Something Extraordinary
by missmissa85
Summary: Our Heroes are entering a Brave New World, but how will they deal when the past arrives with its own set of consequences? Ensemble, Pemma, Clach, Syelle
1. Unexpected Pairings

A/N: So, I'm adding my own touch to the post-Brave New World pile. This will eventually have three major pairings: Pemma (because it's perfect), Clach (because they had me at "do you want a ride on my handle bars?" in the pilot back in September, 2006...I think it was a Monday), and Syelle, because for like four episodes it totally worked, and what she's doing alive will be explained later. Enjoy.

* * *

"Hey, sugar, you need some more coffee?"

"Sure, thanks," the young man answered, looking up from his computer screen.

"What you been working on? You've been in here almost every night this week," the waitress pointed out as she filled his cup.

"Oh, I'm just working on…stuff," he replied cryptically. "I have four roommates. It's quieter here."

"I understand, sugar. You just keep on keepin' on."

He sipped his coffee and returned his concentration to the videos on his computer screen. Editing was so much simpler than it had been a mere three years earlier. Three years earlier when he made videos with Claire. Claire. He hadn't really thought of her in the last three years, but she was always in the back of his mind.

A young woman walked in, a raven-haired toddler sleeping on her shoulder. He looked over at her, like most people would, but she caught his attention. She wore jeans, a green t-shirt, and black converse. She reminded him of Claire. She was tiny and blonde, but her eyes sparkled blue instead of Claire's grayish-green. She was also pretty, but in a different, slightly more impish way.

"Hey there, sweetheart," the waitress greeted quietly, careful not to wake up the child. "You need a booth?"

"Oh, no, I don't want you to have to clean up a whole table for me," the young woman replied. "I just need a highchair for him and I'll sit at the counter. He'll probably sleep anyway."

"Okay, sweetie, I'll be right back."

The young woman struggled awkwardly with her child, diaper bag, purse, and coat. He got up from his stool and said, "Here, let me help you."

"Thanks," she said, letting him take the bags from her shoulders. "I guess people are friendlier here than what I'm used to."

"Where are you from?"

"New York, originally, but I've been in California for a while."

"Welcome to Texas," he said, holding out his right hand. "I'm Zach."

She took his offered hand and replied, "Elle, and this sleeping bundle of joy is Mikey."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

* * *

"Crazy New Yorkers. They should have never trusted a carnie like that," the waitress said, shaking her head at the report on the television.

"No kidding," Elle muttered.

Zach looked over at her. "You're from New York. You ever seen anything like that?"

"Not in New York," she answered between bites of Tahitian pancakes. "She's right, though. Samuel Sullivan is more dangerous than your average carnie."

"You know who that guy is?" Zach asked, glancing at the man being shoved into a black SUV on the television.

She shook her head. "No, not really," she said quickly.

Moments later, Zach heard a voice he recognized. "Holy shit," he breathed as he looked up at the screen.

"Watch your language, son," the waitress admonished. "There's little ears about."

"It's okay. He's sound aslee—holy shit."

"What are you two carrying on about?" the waitress asked, looking up at the screen. "Oh. That girl _does_ look familiar. Didn't she go to Union Wells when that murder happened?"

"Yeah, she did," Zach said quietly. "She is not seriously doing this."

"What is she doing? She must have a death wish."

"I wouldn't call it a death wish," Elle said, moving closer to the television and standing next to Zach.

"How do you know Claire?" he asked, turning his head to look at the petite blonde.

"Long story," she answered, folding her arms across her chest. "Glasses can't be letting her get away with this."

"You mean her dad?"

Her gaze toward him narrowed. "How much do you know?"

"How much do _you_ know?"

"Oh, my God!"

Zach and Elle looked up at the television screen in enough time to see the former cheerleader swan diving off the top of a Ferris wheel.

"My name is Claire Bennet, and that was attempt number…well, I guess I've lost count."

"No fucking kidding," Zach muttered.

The waitress was on the phone immediately, and paying them absolutely no mind. Elle gasped when the camera whipped around and she caught sight of two raven-haired young men.

"What is it?" Zach asked her.

"Nothing…I just-I thought I saw Mikey's dad," she answered, glancing back at her sleeping baby.

Zach considered her for a long moment. "Do you have a car?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, no, we came in on the bus."

"I'll make you a deal," Zach began after a moment, "I'll drive you to New York if you tell me how you know Claire Bennet, and what the hell could have made her do _that_."

"Then what?"

"Then whatever."

"Well, Zach, I guess we have a deal," she replied, offering her right hand.

He shook her hand once, slapped a twenty down on the counter, and said, "Let's go."

* * *

12 Hours Later…

"You haven't asked any questions."

"I already asked them," he replied. "I figure you'll answer eventually."

"How I know Claire Bennet and especially how Samuel Sullivan could be involved is rather complicated," she explained. "Why don't you tell me how you know the cheerleader first?"

"We grew up together," he answered. "Your turn."

"Okay…you didn't seem too shocked when she got up from a fatal fall and just popped her arm back in place."

"I've known for a while now."

"But you're not—"

"No, I'm not."

Elle laughed slightly. "One of us, one of them."

"What?"

"That was the rule: one of us, one of them," she explained. "You see, my father helped found a…Company that identified and tracked people with abilities. Claire's dad worked for them and so did I. He was one of us, I was one of them."

Her hand crackled with blue electricity to emphasize her point.

"Nifty," he replied simply.

"Wow, you are the most unaffected normal person I've ever met, not that I've really ever met that many normal people."

"Did you live in a cave or something?"

"Practically," Elle replied. "Claire's dad wasn't super-important in the Company, but he was certainly one of the most experienced. He tried to hide from us, but we caught up with him, of course. That's how I met her. I was trying to kill her father. Maybe I should have warned you: I'm apparently psychotic."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Okay, maybe _you're_ psychotic."

"If you wanted to kill me, you would have done it already, and you've only answered half the question. What's the deal with the carnival guy? What could he have done to make her do something so irrevocably stupid?"

"Stop trying to sound so mature. You haven't got the face for it."

Zach sniggered. "You're one to talk."

"Well, I've got Mikey. That instantly ages me," she said, glancing at the one-year-old playing with a rattle in a car seat in the back.

"Not really. Now, back to the carnie guy."

"Samuel Sullivan is like your average carnie: he's a manipulative bastard, and he can literally move the earth under your feet," she explained. "There was something else dangerous about his ability, but I never knew what it was, and I don't think anyone else at the Company did either. Do you think we could ride the rest of the way in peace now?"

"Maybe," Zach replied. "Which one of those guys was your baby daddy?"

"That was crude and unnecessary and none of your business."

"Fair enough. It's gonna be a long ride," Zach muttered.

* * *

12 Hours Later, Lower East Side, Manhattan…

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, trudging into his tiny kitchen from his bedroom.

"This clock is terrible," the former serial killer said without looking up from his work. "I'm building you a new one."

"I don't really need a new clock."

"I don't really have anything else to do."

"Where did the bagels come from?" Peter asked, motioning toward the box of fresh baked goods as he got a glass down from the cabinet.

"Like I said, I have very little to do. Mrs. Finnerty thinks you're a very nice young man, by the way."

"Huh?"

"That's what she told me when I helped her with her groceries after I got the bagels this morning."

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head as he poured himself some orange juice. This new Sylar/Gabriel Gray was going to take some getting used to.

"Look, I gotta go to the hospital and make sure I still have a job," Peter explained before taking a swig of his drink.

"Okay," Gabriel replied, not looking up from his project. "Um, have you thought about what you're gonna do?"

"About what?"

"About Claire, about everybody knowing about us?" Gabriel asked, finally looking up from the clock in pieces.

"I am going to do absolutely nothing."

"But Claire is your niece."

"Yes, and fortunately my brother never had the balls to admit to that, so I think I'm safe."

"But—"

"Please shut up," Peter cut him off. It wasn't a request.

Gabriel's shoulders slumped. "Sorry."

Peter rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, "It's not your fault, not really. Look, I gotta go. You should probably avoid police stations or federal buildings with that face."

Gabriel smirked slightly. "I know."

"See ya later."

"Bye."

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

"Peter, man, you're back!" Hessam said cheerily, pulling him toward the television in the locker room. "Have you seen this?"

Peter tried to look away as Claire's swan dive replayed on the screen. Instead he just bit his lip and shook his head.

"What?" Hessam asked him. "You think it's some big hoax, right?"

"I don't really know what to think," Peter admitted honestly.

"You okay?" Hessam asked more seriously, turning down the volume on the television. "I mean, I know you and your brother didn't always get along, but losing him must have been hard."

"Yeah, thanks, Hessam," Peter mumbled. "I have to go. I'll see you Monday."

"See you Monday, man," Hessam said, slapping Peter's hand.

"Monday," Peter agreed.

He debated dropping by the file room, or just going straight back to his car. He didn't have to make that decision when a familiar voice called out, "Peter!"

"Hey," he replied, turning around and giving Emma a genuine smile.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I was…making sure I still had a job," he explained. "I do. They still had me on bereavement leave. Is that what you're doing here?"

"Actually, I just turned in my resignation," she replied, shifting uncomfortably.

"Oh," he said, unable to hide his disappointment.

"I'm still going to be here for a couple of weeks, until they find a replacement."

"Oh," he replied, more hopeful, though he really wished he could come up with more than one syllable at a time. "How's your hand?"

"Better," she said, glancing at her bandaged fingers. "My mother sort of went overboard with the bandages."

"Your mother?"

"She's a doctor here."

Peter laughed sardonically. "Your mother is Dr. Irene Coolidge? Wow, I probably should have figured that out before now."

"Probably," Emma agreed, smiling.

Peter shifted uncertainly. "Um, do you remember that lunch we never had?"

"Yeah," she answered cautiously.

"How about Monday at one?"

"I-I'd like that."

Peter smiled. "I'll see you then," he said, signing simultaneously.

"Bye," Emma replied, smiling girlishly.

Peter turned and walked away from her feeling lighter. When he hit the oppressive New York atmosphere, however, he knew there was something else he had to take care of.

He hailed a cab and slid into the backseat. "Where to, my friend?" the driver asked in a heavy Indian accent.

Peter had to resist the urge to ask a complete stranger if he ever felt like he was meant for something extraordinary. "Seventy-third and fifth, please."

He got out on the Upper East Side and walked up the steps of his childhood home. He hadn't really liked the place when he lived there. He liked it less since he moved out. He knocked on the door and waited. A blonde woman he vaguely recognized from the carnival answered the door.

"Can I help you?"

"No," Peter answered. "I need to talk to Claire."


	2. This Week Fights

A/N: So...update. I haven't written an update this short in a while (I've been used to marathon 5000+ word chapters in the Gilmore Girls fandom, oh and there's a super-subtle Gilmore girls reference within), but it is an eventful update. No real shipping in this one, but plenty of family drama. Enjoy!

* * *

Upper East Side, Manhattan

The best thing about the Petrelli mansion on Fifth Avenue was the view of Central Park. The room in the attic was the homiest with its warm wood paneling, vaulted ceilings, and the best view in the entire house. Claire actually grew to love the room during her last short stay in the Petrelli mansion. It was nearly the only positive memory she had of the place between Nathan telling her to go away with Angela and Peter asking her to shoot him.

She felt a presence behind her and turned to find her young uncle leaning against the wall next to the door. His hands were jammed into his jacket pockets and his face was stonily emotionless. Still, she was glad to see him.

"Peter, hey," she said, moving toward him with her arms outstretched. He backed away from her as though she had a contagious disease. Her smile instantly faded and her arms fell to her sides.

They stood facing each other in an awkward silence for a few tense moments before Claire said, "So, uh, how did you know where to find me?"

"Your dad let me know before we split last night," he explained quietly.

She nodded in understanding. "I, uh, I thought I saw Sylar last night. What was he doing there?"

"He came to help me save a friend."

"Are you serious?" she asked dubiously.

"Yep."

"What's he doing now?"

"Well, he slept on my floor last night and helped an old lady with her groceries this morning."

Claire's jaw dropped in disbelief. "Peter, he attacked me, he killed Nathan. How can you—"

"No," he cut her off angrily. "You don't get to ask that question, not after what you did last night."

"What would you have preferred? That Samuel had opened up the ground and killed a bunch of innocent people?"

"Don't even insult me by asking a question like that!"

"You're living with a serial killer!"

"How could you have done it, Claire? How could you expose us after the hell we went through last year?" he asked more quietly, tears forming in his eyes.

"I did it so that would never happen again."

"My God! Are you _that_ naïve?" Peter shouted. "Every time something new has been discovered in this world, lots of people have died before anything got better."

"I know that, Peter. I'm not stupid!" she insisted. "I know that a hundred years ago a family with a name like Petrelli couldn't have owned this house, but times changed, Peter."

He shook his head slowly. "Andrew Goodman, Michael Schwerner, and James Chaney."

"What?" Claire asked, clearly confused.

"Those were three men who gave their lives in Philadelphia, Mississippi so times could change," Peter explained too calmly. "This time around, it could be Noah, or Hiro, or, God forbid, Matt Parkman's little boy. What you did will be causing pain for people like you and me for generations, and that's all on you, Claire."

"Peter, please," she cried, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she followed him.

"Don't, Claire," he said, holding out a hand to stop her. "Just…don't."

She watched from the top of the stairs as he stormed past Lauren and her father. She sank to the top step holding onto the banister as uncontrollable sobs wracked her body.

* * *

Somewhere along I-20…

Elle rubbed her eyes as sunlight streamed into the van. The clock on the dash told her it was nearly one o'clock. She turned around to check on Mikey only to find a young man flashing what appeared to be an iPhone in front of him. The toddler seemed to be enjoying it and the scene would have been endearing if she had any idea where the young man came from.

"Uh, Zach, who is that, and why is he in the backseat of your car playing with my kid?"

"That's Michah. We picked him up in Shreveport," Zach answered simply. "And don't worry, we changed and fed Mikey. You were pretty dead to the world."

"Oh, yes, that makes perfect sense. Why are you here?" Elle said, turning around in her seat to look at the young man behind her.

He brushed his wild curls out of his eyes and replied, "I know Zach, and after I saw the news, I figured he'd be headed this way."

"How, exactly, do you guys know each other?"

"My cousin, Monica, saved his ass when he was in New Orleans last year."

"Senior trip…sort of," Zach explained shortly.

Elle rolled her eyes and shook her head. She considered the boy in the back with a narrowed gaze before continuing, "So, you're Micah, and your cousin is Monica from New Orleans…was your mother Nikki Sanders?"

"Did you know her?" the boy asked hopefully.

"Knew _of_ her," Elle explained. "You…talk to machines, right?"

"Yep. Here you play with this," Micah said, handing Mikey the iPhone.

"Uh, as endearing as you giving my one-year-old son an iPhone is, I'm not really sure that's the best idea."

"It's okay. I've got plenty," Micah answered, unzipping a backpack to reveal dozen shiny iPhones.

Elle looked at Zach. "Did we break into an Apple store while I was asleep?"

"I build them myself," Micah assured her.

"Are we going to pick up any more strays along I-20?" Elle asked Zach.

He smirked and said, "We might wait until we get to I-81."

"Lovely."

* * *

Los Angeles, California

"Jan, you didn't have to come home early."

"You can barely walk. I'm taking you to the doctor."

"It's fine. Peter said it was just dislocated."

"_Just_ dislocated," Janice mocked. "And what does this Peter guy know?"

"He's a nurse."

"He's not a doctor," she insisted.

"Fine. We can go to the doctor."

"Thank you," Janice said as the television came on in the living room. "Matty!"

Matt shook his head and limped around his bedroom looking for his shoes. Peter had popped his knee back into place, but the pain was still excruciating. He didn't think the physical pain was the only thing bothering him, though. He trapped Sylar in a nightmare. That was what his father would have done, and even though Sylar completely deserved it, it bothered Matt. He never wanted to be the man Molly used to wake up screaming about.

"Matt!" Janice called from the other room. "Turn on the TV right now!"

He cocked an eyebrow and turned on the TV to find Claire Bennet jumping off a Ferris wheel. He had to sit down on the end of the bed.

Janice came in holding her son and sat down next to her husband. "Do you know that girl?"

"Yeah, I know her," Matt said solemnly. "I can't believe she just did that."

"Well, it's better her than that Sylar guy or the man with the carnival, right?"

"Maybe, but, Jan, not everyone who wants to do good can control their powers."

"What do you mean?"

"I knew a man that gave his wife cancer, and that Peter guy I told you about, he nearly blew up New York with a power he couldn't control," Matt told her. "This could go very, _very_ badly."

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing right now," he answered quickly. "I'm going to stay at home with Matty. He's too young to control his powers and we can't let babysitters or a daycare center finding out about him."

"Maybe it won't be so bad," Janice suggested, lightly touching his arm.

Matt shook his head. "I'm want to play it safe. I've only been able to have you guys for a few months. I don't want to lose you to all this stuff again."

"Alright, Matt. I'll follow your lead," she promised.

* * *

Washington Square Park, New York City

Peter was used to the cold. Growing up in New York had done that for him. But the sun was setting and his jacket wasn't very heavy and Washington Square Park didn't exactly provide a lot of cover from the wind. He didn't want to go home, though. His apartment hadn't really been a home for a while, and the presence of his brother's murderer wasn't exactly helping.

It started out as a good day. He got Emma to agree to go to lunch with him. He'd gone to his childhood home to make sure his niece was okay, but then he just got mad. They'd gone through enough with only a few people knowing about them. Now the whole world knew, and it wouldn't be long before another Sylar, or Doyle, or Samuel Sullivan came along and convinced everyone else they were dangerous. No matter how many more of them they found, they were always going to be the minority.

"It figures a guy with a name like Petrelli would be next to the statue of Giuseppi Garibaldi," Gabriel said, sitting down next to Peter on the park bench.

"How'd you know where to find me?" Peter asked without looking at his new companion.

"Nathan's memories," Gabriel answered hesitantly. "He used to bring you here a lot. He gave you the don't-do-drugs speech by the fountain, which seems counter-intuitive since he was the first person that ever got you drunk."

Peter laughed and said, "He was a man of contradictions."

Gabriel nodded and they fell into a companionable silence.

"You're very popular," Gabriel said suddenly.

"Huh?"

"Your phone has been ringing all afternoon," he explained. "Bennet called. He's pissed about something you said to Claire. I got the impression your mom feels the same way. Hiro Nakamura wants to know what you think we should do about people knowing. Parkman wanted to know what the hell is going on. And Mohinder just called. I think it's morning over there and he just found out. He's as confused as Parkman."

Peter scoffed and shook his head. "Why are they asking me? It's not like I'm a leader or anything."

Gabriel looked at him dubiously. "You really think that?"

Peter nodded. "Nathan was the leader. I'm just…the moony kid brother."

"He didn't think that," Gabriel assured him. "He always thought you were capable of everything good, and apparently, so does almost everyone else."

"If you say so."

"Come on. I've got a great recipe for baked ziti."


	3. Crash

A/N: Okay, either Heroes has more fans now (which seems counter-intuitive considering the widespread belief that the show is about to get cancelled) or this fic is just much better than my last one b/c the response to this one has been absolutely amazing. You guys rock my socks! Thanks and don't forget to review this chapter.

* * *

Arlington University

"Okay, granted, there are gaps in my memory, probably due to nearly losing my head a couple of times—not to mention multiple Haitianings—but this just does not look like New York," Elle said from the backseat where she was keeping Mikey entertained.

"I have no idea what you just said, but that's because this is Arlington, Virginia," Zach told her, grabbing his messenger bag from the floor near Micah's feet.

"I knew I shouldn't have let the two of you drive, especially since one of you isn't even old enough," she said pointedly at the teenager in the passenger seat.

"I have my permit," Micah argued.

"I don't think that counts," she replied, unbuckling her son as they pulled into a parking space. "Zach, you're acting like the one with the plan. What are we doing here?"

"Not my idea actually," he said, motioning toward Micah.

"Video of Claire jumping off that Ferris wheel went viral practically within minutes, which is why some people think it's some sort of internet hoax," Micah explained immediately. "The fortunate, or unfortunate, part of that is that some of Claire's sorority sisters recognized her and identified her. They even fingered her roommate, who is still here."

"And we're here to talk to Gretchen Berg," Zach summarized.

"Um, why?" Elle asked, stepping into the sunlight, her child in her arms.

"You didn't know that much about Samuel Sullivan and the carnival. We thought she might know more," Zach explained.

"I guess you guys didn't see the feds putting Samuel in the back of an SUV," Elle teased. "I'm not really sure that's something to be concerned with. This looks like a pretty big campus. Do we even know where this person lives?"

"Murray residence hall," Micah answered, examining his phone.

"Which is where?"

"This way," the teenager said, leading them down a sidewalk.

"Handy, little, all-in-one devices those iPhones complete with technopath," Elle concluded cheerily.

"This is it," Micah said after a short walk into a building that hadn't been renovated since 1983.

Zach knocked on the door and they waited for a reply.

"I don't want to talk to any reporters!" came the angry reply.

"We're not reporters," Zach assured her through the closed door.

"Of course you would say that!"

Zach guffawed and shook his head. "My name is Zach Foster, I'm from Odessa. Union Wells High School. I'm a friend of Claire Bennet's."

"I don't believe you!"

"Tell her something about Claire that's not public knowledge," Micah advised.

"What if she doesn't know?"

"I can still hear you!"

"Claire's biological mother was Meredith Gordon and she was a fire starter, and I don't mean she was a pyromaniac," Zach said.

The door opened a crack and a pale face shrouded with long, black hair appeared. "How did you know that?"

"Claire and I, we used to be friends…a long time ago."

"How succinct. Could you let us in? This kid's getting kind of heavy," Elle complained.

"Uh, sure, I guess," she told them, opening the door all the way. She regarded Micah and Elle closely and said, "Who are Shaggy and Daphne?"

"Did you hear that, baby?" Elle asked her son dramatically as she sat down on the floor with him. "That makes you Scooby…or Velma. We'll go with Scooby. You can be Velma," she told the girl standing over her.

"Gee, thanks. My name's Gretchen, in case you didn't already know that."

"We knew," Zach told her, leaning against the closed door.

"You still haven't told me who you are, or what you're doing here," Gretchen informed them, her hands on her hips.

"I gave you my name," Zach excused.

"Micah Sanders," he said, politely offering his hand.

Gretchen shook his offered hand and looked at the woman and child on her dorm-room floor.

"I'm Elle, and what's your name, little man?"

"Mikey!" the toddler announced.

"Gasp! You answered a question! Mommy is so proud!" Elle exclaimed, kissing the top of her son's head.

Gretchen smiled and laughed softly at the sweet scene.

"We came to get some information about Claire," Zach said. "What's been going on with her? Something had to have happened to inspire her to jump off a Ferris wheel in front of the whole world."

"Why do you care so much?" Gretchen asked, facing Zach with her arms folded across her chest.

Zach stood up straighter and replied, "You know that thing she said when she stood up? I was the guy holding the camera when she knew exactly how many attempts it was. I was the first person she ever told. That's why I care."

"I'm sorry. She never mentioned you."

"Well, that makes me feel like shit, but I know Claire well enough to know that wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision. Something was going on. What was it?"

"It was just a bunch of stuff."

"We've got time," Zach said determinedly.

"She was just…trying to find herself, or whatever," Gretchen explained, pacing across the five feet of open space in her dorm. "She was trying to be normal, but this insane sorority sister killed her first roommate and tried to kill me and she was apparently connected to this Samuel guy from some carnival run by people with abilities."

"Wait, Samuel was running the circus?" Elle interrupted. "What happened to Joseph?"

"I'm not really sure, but I think Samuel may have killed him," Gretchen replied, shrugging.

"Oh! That explains a lot. If Joseph was dead, it's no wonder the carnival got out of control after being a simple pain in the but for all those years."

"Okay," Zach said uncertainly before looking back at Gretchen. "Did Samuel do something to Claire?"

"No, but…she liked the idea of a family of people with abilities sort of just living their lives out in the open," Gretchen said, staring at the floor. "I guess that became her definition of normal. She just took off to stop some devious plot, which isn't normal at all, and…I wish she hadn't jumped off that damned Ferris wheel."

They were all silent for a few moments. Elle suddenly stood up and hoisted her son onto her hip.

"What do you say, Velma? You coming with?"

"No," Gretchen answered, shaking her head for good measure. "If Claire wants to be normal again, she can come back here and be my roommate and go to classes. I'll be her friend and whatever else she needs, but she has to make an actual decision about her future because this is ridiculous."

"We'll tell her when we find her," Zach promised solemnly.

"Oh, and could you ask her about my car? She sort of took it to go after Samuel."

"Uh, sure."

"And if you see any reporters on your way out, just tell them they've got the wrong university."

"Will do," Zach said, giving her a mock salute.

"So, did you guys find that at all helpful?" Elle asked, gibing them.

"Sort of," Zach answered. "If Samuel scared Claire that badly, he was probably planning something terrible, and maybe what Claire did was a good thing."

"No way," Micah interrupted, stopping them. "After everything we went through last year, there is nothing that could make exposing us a good thing."

"What happened last year?" Elle asked, soothing her suddenly fussy son.

"Senator Petrelli put together a team of feds to hunt us down and put us away," Micah explained. "He even arrested his own brother. The only reason I got away was because they depended too much on technology, and I got some help from Sylar."

Elle visibly flinched at the mention of the serial killer's name. Zach cocked an eyebrow at her reaction and asked, "You know Sylar?"

"Not for a while," she answered cryptically. "No one came knocking at my door last year…not that I was really living anywhere in particular at the time."

"Lucky you," Zach concluded. "Come on. If we hurry we can get to New York by lunch."

Micah let Zach get out of earshot before he stopped Elle and said, "They weren't looking for you because Noah Bennet had you declared dead."

Elle chuckled as she pulled a blonde strand of hair out of her son's mouth. "That really doesn't surprise me. You know, I think I may have been dead for a little while there. I woke up on a beach with feral cats coming for me. I had a gash in my head and lighter fluid all over me. I don't know what he was thinking, but he must have reconsidered at some point."

"You're talking about Sylar, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

"Is he Mikey's dad?"

"That's none of your business," Elle assured him. "Come on. We should catch up with Zach."

* * *

Midtown Manhattan

Peter impatiently tapped his fingers on the armrest of the ambulance's passenger side door.

"You got a hot date?"

"What?"

"You keep drumming your fingers," Hesam told him. "I doubt you're nervous about coming back to a job you already know, so…who is she?"

"Uh…I'm just meeting Emma Coolidge for lunch."

"The girl from the file room?" Hesam asked incredulously. "Why? She makes you put everything in writing and she's always got those headphones in like the rest of us are just too unimportant to converse with."

Peter blinked at his partner and said, "She's deaf."

"Oh. Do you think you could have said something _before_ I made a complete ass of myself?"

"Probably not," Peter laughed.

Hesam punched him playfully as the light changed. The next few moments happened in slow motion upon Peter's recollection. The maroon Nissan Rogue in front of them pulled away cautiously enough, but an old flatbed truck sped through the light from the cross street. It slammed into the smaller vehicle on the passenger side causing it to do a one-eighty.

Hesam was instantly on the radio calling it in as Peter turned on the lights before jumping out of the ambulance with his med kit. A young man about 19 or 20 stumbled out of the driver's side, blood already pouring from a gash on his forehead.

"You okay?"

"I think so. Help them," the younger man said, motioning vaguely back toward his car.

Peter quickly examined the interior to find a distantly familiar teenaged boy and a wailing baby in the back seat. Then his eyes fell on the blonde woman in the passenger seat. She crackled all over with blue electricity.

"Shit," Peter breathed. "Get that kid out of the car! Get out of the car right now!"

The teenager rushed to release the child from his car seat as Peter rounded the vehicle to the passenger side. He pulled on the door with all of his ordinary strength. It was so damaged it practically fell off in his hands.

"Elle! Elle, can you hear me?" he asked.

She gasped as she jerked into consciousness and grabbed Peter's arm. He held in a scream of pain as electricity coursed through his body before her power passed to him.

"Where's Mikey? Where is he?" she screamed, attempting to look around.

"Elle, you have to calm down. You have to stop moving, or you're gonna hurt yourself more," Peter told her, pinning her shoulders to the seat with his hands.

"Where's Mikey? Where's my baby?" she cried, tears joining the blood trickling down her face.

Peter glanced at the teenager holding the baby a few feet from the car, and realization dawned on him. He looked her directly in the eye and said, "He's fine, Elle, he's doing a lot better than you right now. You've got to calm down. You've got to control this."

"I can't, Peter. It hurts. It hurts. Aaahhh!"

"Holy God," Hesam said at the sight of the blue electricity coursing through the two people in front of him.

"Hesam, get me a sedative!"

"You-you can't give a sedative to a car crash victim!" Hesam protested.

Elle screamed as a massive jolt of electricity escaped her body. Peter cried out in pain though the jolt would do him no permanent damage. He angrily looked back toward his partner.

"Get me the damned sedative before this car blows up!"

"Peter, I'm so sorry," Elle whimpered, tightening her grip on his arm. "I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry for everything."

"Don't, Elle. It's okay. You just have to calm down."

Hesam silently handed Peter the syringe, and he injected it into Elle's neck without ceremony. Her head lolled to one side and the crackling of electricity immediately left the air. Peter was sweating despite the cold. He laughed sardonically and breathed a deep sigh of relief.

His partner regarded him with a mixture of confusion and anger. "What the _hell_ was that?"

* * *

Did anyone catch the Veronica Mars reference. It wasn't exactly my subtlest reference ever...


	4. Worst Day Ever

A/N: An update for your weekend. Mostly I like this chapter, the ending took me a while and I'm not totally satisfied with it, but I don't think I was ever going to be, so I just went with it. Enjoy.

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

"You have to keep her sedated," Peter told the doctor as they wheeled Elle into the emergency room.

"You sedated this woman? Are you insane?"

"Trust me, it was necessary," Hesam argued.

"I'll write you two up for this," the doctor told them.

"Keep her under, or you _will_ regret it," Peter replied forcefully.

"Is that a threat?"

"It's a fact."

The doctor shook his head as he rushed around the corner with Elle. Hesam looked at his partner and said, "I'll take care of the paperwork. You take care of those guys."

Peter turned back toward young men standing dumbly in the doorway. "You guys need to get checked out. Come on," he said, laying a hand on the eldest's shoulder.

"I'm fine," he insisted, shaking off Peter's hand.

Peter grabbed his arm forcefully and said, "You need stitches, and you probably have a concussion. You are going to get checked out."

"Come on, Zach, let's just go," the teenager said, soothing the sleeping child in his arms.

Zach nodded and followed Peter into one of the examination bays in the bustling emergency room.

"We'll get you cleaned up and then I'll find someone to suture the wound."

"Shouldn't a nurse do that?"

"I _am_ a nurse."

"Convenient," Zach muttered, starting to lay back.

"Don't you dare," Peter warned, keeping Zach upright with a hand on the back of his neck.

"I'm just tired, man."

Peter ignored him and shined his penlight in Zach's eyes. He then grabbed a plastic container just before Zach threw up.

"You have a concussion, and you aren't going to sleep for a while. If he starts to doze, you smack him for me," he told the younger man in the room.

"Uh, sure," the teenager said, laying the sleeping baby down in the center of the bed. "I'm Micah, by the way."

Peter nodded as he cleaned Zach's wound. "You're Niki's son, right?"

"Yeah. I didn't think you'd remember me."

"Kirby plaza was hard to forget," Peter replied. "How did you two wind up in New York with Elle Bishop?"

"That's a long story," Zach answered before leaning over and throwing up once more in the plastic container.

"You just hold onto that," Peter suggested.

"Peter?"

He seemed to forget everything he was doing when he saw Emma standing at the foot of the bed. "Emma, I'm so sorry. I-we-there was a wreck, and…it's complicated."

She smiled slightly and said, "It's okay, Peter. Hesam told me what happened. Do you need some help? It's kind of crazy out here."

"Uh, sure. You can sew him up. Just be careful. He's still puking," Peter warned.

"I'll try to miss your shoes," Zach told her.

"I appreciate that," she replied, pulling on a pair of latex gloves.

"How about you, are you okay?" Peter asked Micah.

"I'm probably going to have a mean case of whiplash, but, yeah, I'm fine," Micah assured him.

"Help me with him, okay?" Peter said, motioning toward the baby.

Micah held the fussy boy while Peter gently examined his skull and arms.

"Is he okay?" Emma asked, snipping the thread holding the gash in Zach's forehead together.

"Yeah, he's fine. No broken bones."

Mikey wrapped both of his chubby hands around one of Peter's and grinned up at him. Peter returned the smile and ruffled the little boy's black hair.

"Peter, your arm. It's burned," Emma informed him, pointing to the spot Elle grabbed before he absorbed her ability. Peter had been running on adrenaline for the last half hour and he honestly hadn't noticed.

"It's nothing," he excused. "I need to make a call. Can you keep an eye on them?"

"Sure," she replied, nodding.

"Thanks," he said, gently squeezing her arm before he left.

He immediately went to the central desk and asked one of the nurses, "You know that woman my partner and I brought in? Do you know where she is?"

"They had to do emergency surgery," the nurse replied, glancing at her computer screen.

"So, she'll be under for…?"

"At least another hour, maybe even the rest of the night depending on how much damage they find in surgery."

"Thanks," Peter replied, already punching numbers into his phone.

"Hello," the gruff voice on the other end answered.

"Noah, it's Peter."

"You finally decided to return my call?"

"No, I need you to get the Haitian to Mercy Heights Hospital within the hour."

"Why?"

"Because if Elle Bishop overloads in this hospital, a lot of people are going to get hurt or even die."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry. Did you say _Elle Bishop_?"

"Yes."

"I'll see what I can do."

"And, Noah, there's something else: Elle has a one-year-old kid. His name is Mikey."

"You're kidding."

"Nope, and Micah Sanders and some guy named Zach were with her too. I haven't figured out why yet."

"I'm on my way," Noah said before the line cut out.

Peter replaced the phone in his pocket and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Emma standing next to him.

"Sorry," she apologized sheepishly.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, the younger boy, Micah, seems to have everything under control."

Peter nodded. "From what I understand, he's always had to be that way."

Emma nodded her silent agreement. "Come on. I want to look at your arm," she said, pulling him into a small exam room slightly larger than a broom closet. "How did this happen?"

He took a deep breath and said, "Uh, Elle, the woman we just brought in, she can produce bolts of electricity. I must have gotten burned when she grabbed my arm before I picked up her ability. The electricity can't cause any permanent damage with this ability, but it still hurts like hell."

He gritted his teeth as she rubbed a salve into the burn. "Sorry," she said quietly, "but you'll appreciate it later."

He smirked at her professional demeanor. As she started to wrap his arm, she said, "How do you know her?"

"That's…complicated."

She looked him directly in the eyes. "Un-complicate it."

Peter had seen Emma frightened and angry, but he'd never seen quite the determination suddenly present in her face. He chuckled nervously and said, "A couple of years ago, I'd just discovered my ability and it worked differently back then. I just absorbed all of the powers of anyone I came in contact with. I met a man name Ted Sprague, and he could generate nuclear energy. Long story short, there was another man killing people for their abilities, and I had to fight him in Kirby Plaza. A bunch of us, including Micah's mom, defeated him, but I lost control. I was about to go nuclear and take out half the city, but my brother flew me out."

"Your brother could fly?"

"Yeah," Peter answered, smiling for the first time at a memory of his brother. "It-it's kind of weird what happened next, but this company that cataloged and tracked people with abilities decided I was dangerous, and at the time, I thought so too. Elle was the person that brought me food, and tortured me everyday."

"Tortured you?"

"Yeah, she'd shock me, literally," he explained.

"That's horrible."

Peter shook his head solemnly. "She had a hard life. She came into her ability early, and never even got to have a normal childhood."

"You shouldn't make excuses for her," Emma told him, taping the gauze down on his right arm.

Peter smirked slightly and replied, "If I don't make excuses for her, I can't make any for myself."

"You shouldn't have to make excuses for the way you were born," she told him, squeezing his right hand.

He smiled and tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear with his free hand. Her expression became uncomfortable and, for a moment, Peter thought she might pull away from him. Instead, her face softened and she came closer to him until he could feel her hesitant breath on his lips.

"Hey."

Peter jerked his head toward the doorway while Emma looked at him in confusion for a moment before she saw Hesam in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest.

"I should go," she murmured before rushing past Peter's partner and out the door.

"Your arm okay?" Hesam asked, ignoring Peter's near-murderous glare.

"Yeah, it's fine."

"Okay, then," Hesam said, closing the door behind him. "What the hell was that out there? I don't do drugs, I don't drink on duty, and there's no history of psychosis in my family, so I know I didn't imagine it. A wrecked car doesn't produce that kind of electricity, and even if it did, you and that woman should be toasted from the inside out, and you're not."

Peter shrugged and said, "The car wasn't producing the electricity. Elle was."

Hesam's eyes widened. "You're telling me that tiny, little blonde woman was producing all of that electricity? That's not possible."

"Like it's not possible for a nineteen-year-old cheerleader to take a swan dive off the top of a Ferris wheel and walk away without a scratch?"

Hesam quirked an eyebrow. "How do you know that girl's a cheerleader?" he asked uncertainly.

"She's my niece," Peter replied shrugging and folding his arms across his chest.

"Your niece?" Hesam asked incredulously. "Peter, are you-are you one of them?"

Peter chuckled mirthlessly. "That didn't take long."

"What didn't take long?"

"For everything to become about us and them."

"Peter, I—"

"No," Peter cut him off. "I'm can't deal with this right now. And, to answer your question, yes, I'm one of them."

Hesam had nothing to do but stare blankly as his partner walked back out into the busy emergency room.

* * *

Petrelli Mansion, Upper East Side

Clair examined herself critically in the mirror. Dying her hair seemed like a good idea at the time, but now it was dark red and spooked her every time she passed a mirror or window of which there were many in the Petrelli family home.

The house was excruciatingly quiet, and its extensive library was her only saving grace. Hiding from the media in the Petrelli mansion was her father's plan, and judging from what she saw on the few seconds of television she'd watched, it was a good plan. She was however, starting to miss school and Gretchen and living a somewhat normal life. But she didn't want to hide anymore. Hiding caused so many problems, though being out in the open might have its own worse problems if Peter's fears came true.

Her father said something about running an errand and ordered her to stay in the house. She thought briefly about sneaking out, but she didn't know New York that well, and there would be hell to pay if someone recognized her.

"Claire, get down here," her father's voice rang out in a tone that said he wasn't making a suggestion.

She set aside her ancient copy of _Persuasion_ and slowly walked toward the stairs. Her chin dropped slightly when she saw the figures in the foyer with her father. She recognized the young boy holding the baby from Kirby Plaza though he had matured considerably. The other young man reminded her of a reality so distant it was almost a dream. His brown hair was dirty and unkempt and his emerald eyes looked tired and empty. He appeared utterly spent, but he smiled slightly when he saw her standing in front of him.

"Hey, Claire."

"You remember me?" she asked, glancing briefly at her father as tears welled in her eyes.

"Well, I remember you as a blonde," he joked.

She laughed lightly as she gently wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm glad you're here."

* * *

Peter Petrelli's Apartment, Lower East Side

Peter left Rene in the intensive care unit with an unconscious Elle. He wrestled with the decision to let Mikey go with Noah, but he was banking on the idea that the anesthesia would keep her asleep until morning, and even if she did wake up, the Haitian would keep her from setting the hospital on fire.

He then briefly thought his own apartment was on fire when he opened his door.

"What the hell is that smell?"

"I sort of burned the fried chicken," Gabriel replied, opening a window.

"Why were you making fried chicken?"

"Never had it before."

"Maybe you should stick to take-out and avoid the stove," Peter suggested.

"I think I agree with you," Gabriel coughed. "Are you okay? You don't look so good. Did you have a bad day?"

"Worst. Day. Ever," Peter confirmed, dropping his messenger bag by the door.

"Sorry," Gabriel offered, dumping the contents of a pan into the trashcan.

Peter regarded his provisional roommate as the taller man silently went about cleaning up. He hadn't really thought about it when he first saw Elle's young son, but the boy only shared his mother's sparkling blue eyes. Mikey had a long face, wide mouth, and jet-black hair, much like the thin man standing in front of Peter.

"How well did you know Elle Bishop?"

Gabriel froze. "I-I killed her," he answered hesitantly, not meeting Peter's gaze. "That's how well I knew her."

Peter quirked an eyebrow and shook his head. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why would you even ask me a question like that?" Gabriel yelled, turning angrily on Peter.

"Because Elle isn't dead."

"That's not funny."

"I'm not laughing," Peter retorted. "She was in a car accident today, but she is very much alive."

"Th-th-that's not possible," Gabriel muttered, fiercely shaking his head and pushing past Peter toward the door.

"What do you think you did? Gabriel!" Peter yelled after the former serial killer as he leapt out of the window in the hall and into the air.

* * *

A/N: Pemma shippers are probably mad at me right now, I'm a little mad at myself. The rest of the ensemble should be reappearing in the next update. Enjoy!


	5. You Got Catching Up To Do

A/N: So, I promised more ensemble action, but I'm just so attatched to the NYC contingent, it's hard to break away from them, but there is a little Mohinder for your enjoyment. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. You make it all worth it.

* * *

Chennai, India

"I'm sorry. There's no one here by that name," she said before slamming down the phone.

She shook her head and sighed in frustration as she marched toward the study at the back of the house. Mohinder was sitting at his desk dutifully grading papers, but his face betrayed his worry and uncertainty.

"That was another reporter," she said flatly.

"I thought as much."

"Why do they keep calling you?"

"Because a girl in the United States jumped off the top of a Ferris wheel, and walked away without a scratch," he answered without looking up.

"What does that have to do with you?"

He set his pencil down and looked up at her calmly, too calmly. "Did you ever even look at my father's research?"

"Mohinder, your father was—"

"Answer the question, Mira."

She sighed and said, "Yes, I looked at your father's research. It was laughable at best. You know this."

His mouth curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "And yet there is a girl in America that can regenerate from almost any injury."

"In a few days, it will all be revealed as a hoax," she insisted, leaning on his desk. "You must realize this."

"It's not a hoax."

"Mohinder—"

He suddenly stood up and walked to an old, metal, two-drawer filing cabinet in the corner of the room. "This filing cabinet here: heavy, yes?"

"Yes," Mira answered, rolling her eyes.

Mohinder nodded once, grabbed the filing cabinet with one hand and easily tossed it into the next room. Mira stared at him agape.

"How did you—"

"It's not a hoax," he repeated, cutting her off. "I'm sorry, Mira. I've tried to ignore everything, but I can't. I can't stay here. Not now."

"And where will you go?" she asked, her face angry, but her eyes filling with tears.

"There's someone I need to see in Mumbai, but I have a friend in Los Angeles. I'll start there."

"Will you ever come back?"

"I don't know, Mira. I'm sorry."

"So am I," she whispered as he walked past her toward the back of the house to gather his things.

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

Emma stayed late to catch up on her work. She wanted to leave the next file clerk in a good position. She wasn't exactly sure what she was going to do next, but she was in a good place financially and she sort of liked the feeling of uncertainty. Recently, her plans had been going horribly awry, and maybe going with the flow was going to work out better for her in the end.

She decided to check on Peter's friend in the ICU. She smiled shyly at the strange man sitting outside of Elle's door. Peter briefly explained he had the ability to block the powers of others and he was there to keep Elle from hurting anyone unintentionally. The dark man barely acknowledged her with his eyes alone.

She stepped into the room as the small woman on the bed began to stir. "What…" she mumbled.

"You were in a car accident," Emma explained calmly. "You're in a hospital. You shouldn't move very much with your injuries."

"Where's Mikey?" Elle asked, suddenly frantic.

"It's okay," Emma assured her, gently pushing the other woman's shoulders back onto the bed. "Your son is with your friends, Micah and Zach."

"Who are you? You aren't dressed like a doctor."

"My name is Emma Coolidge. I'm a…friend of Peter Petrelli's," she answered reluctantly. "He made sure you were okay before he left. He thought you'd sleep through the night."

Elle looked around the room suspiciously. "Something's…wrong. Is the Haitian here?"

Emma glanced toward the doorway uncertainly. "Peter said his name was René, but I think he's Haitian," she replied.

Elle's breath hitched in her chest. "Where's Mikey?" she repeated, starting to shake in fear. "Is he with Peter?"

"He's with Micah and Zach."

"Where are they?!" Elle asked, the volume of her voice rising.

"They're with another friend of Peter's," Emma answered, struggling to keep Elle still.

"Who? Who was it?"

"I-I don't remember his name," Emma admitted. "He wore glasses. Horn-rimmed glasses."

"No!"

"You have to be quiet," Emma told her, pushing Elle down firmly.

"You don't understand," Elle cried. "You don't know him. He's cold and ruthless about everything except his precious Claire. He's murdered and he's made murderers out of good men." Her eyes shifted toward the door. "_You_ know what I mean. You know him better than anyone. Please, I just want my baby away from him."

Emma turned to find the Haitian standing calmly in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Elle. Without a word, he withdrew a phone from a coat pocket, pressed a single button, and held it to his ear.

_

* * *

The graveyard was typically cold and foggy. Peter looked around and figured it was Flushing Cemetery, judging by the residential surroundings. Gabriel sat in front of a stone simply reading, 'Virginia Gray.' The image shimmered away and Peter was farther away from the former serial killer and Hiro Nakamura stood next to him. 'Butterfly effect' were the only words he could make out of the blurry vision._

* * *

Peter Petrelli's Apartment, Lower East Side

Peter awoke in a cold sweat. It was the feeling he got whenever he dreamt the future, but he hadn't had that ability in a week, and he hadn't seen his mother in just as much time. He held up a hand and a ball of blue electricity formed at his command. His brow furrowed in confusion as he allowed the electricity to dissipate. He hadn't been able to hold onto more than one ability at a time for nearly a year. Of course, his dream could have just been a dream, but he knew what dreaming the future felt like, and that was the feeling he had at that moment.

His cell phone started ringing and he answered it groggily as he ran a hand through his now-damp hair.

"Peter," the Haitian's voice replied in its usual calm. "Elle Bishop is awake. She is demanding to see her son."

"It's the middle of the night," Peter protested weakly, already slipping on his shoes.

"Let me talk to him, please?" Elle's voice begged frantically on the other end of the line.

Peter pulled on his jacket as he waited for René to give the injured woman the phone.

"Peter, you have to get Mikey away from Bennet. You have to," she told him, her voice choking with sobs.

"Why, Elle? He's safe with Bennet."

"No, he's not! I've known him my whole life, Peter. You haven't. You have no idea what he's capable of. And if he finds out who Mikey's father is… Peter, please, I'm begging you. Just get my baby away from him."

Peter decided to take a chance and said, "Mikey's dad: it's Sylar, isn't it?"

A long silence followed. "Yes," she whispered in reply.

Peter nodded though she couldn't see him. "Okay, Elle. I'll get your son to you as soon as possible."

* * *

Petrelli Mansion, Upper East Side

"You're _not_ serious."

"Totally serious. Davey Wilson was so drunk he went right up to a couple of six-foot-tall drag queens on Bourbon Street and asked them if they still had their junk. And, yes, he put it like that," Zach replied.

Claire attempted to cover her laughter with her hands. They were on opposite ends of a long couch with their legs stretched out in front of them. The rest of the house was dark and quiet compared to the raucous laughter issuing from the two friends as they caught up with one another.

"Well, Davey Wilson was never going to be up for Mensa membership," Claire said. "What happened next?"

"We ran, and I apparently went in a different direction from everyone else and wound up interrupting some sort of illegal deal in a dark alley."

"How did you get out of that one?"

"I didn't," he replied. "Micah's cousin, Monica, came out of nowhere and kicked both of their asses like she was Bruce Lee."

"How? Does she have an ability?"

"Yeah, she's a muscle mimic. Anything she sees she can do."

"Wow. That's a cool one."

"Yeah, and she's really nice too. I was still kind of tipsy and she took me home so I could sleep it off," he explained. "That's how I met Micah. It wasn't that long after his mom died at that point, but he was still a pretty upbeat kid. And that's about the most exciting thing that's happened to me in the last two years. I hear _your_ life has been nothing but non-stop excitement."

"Unfortunately," Claire groaned.

He regarded her for a long moment before saying, "Out of curiosity, what made you think revealing yourself to the world would possibly make your life easier?"

"I wasn't really trying to make my life easier," she replied. "It's just… There are a lot of powers out there, Zach. Some of them are pretty mundane, some are inherently destructive, and some can have terrible consequences if misused. My power is pretty passive. Isn't it better that the world's introduction to people like us is something like my ability?"

Zach chuckled and shook his head. "You obviously never read very many comic books."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"A superhero revealing their identity is the equivalent of suicide."

"What about the, uh, the…Fantastic Four? They lived out in the open."

Zach's eyebrows arched upward in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I worked at a comic book store for a day."

"You must have been very popular," Zach muttered. "And, last time I checked, Lyle wasn't exactly the human torch. Besides, the reason the Fantastic Four managed out in the open was because they were a family and they looked out for each other. How many people like you are actually on your side with this thing, Claire?"

She focused on the polish chipping off her big toe. "None that I know of," she replied quietly. "Even Peter's mad at me."

"Peter is your…uncle, right?" Zach asked, trying to recall a conversation.

"Yeah," she answered sadly. "He saved my life, and he's always been the one person I could trust the one person that would never lie to me. I can't even depend on my dad for that, and now Peter isn't even speaking to me. And I know that the rest of them are going to take their lead from Peter because no matter what the situation, the Petrellis always seem to be in the middle of it."

"It'll be okay, Claire," he said soothingly.

She smiled weakly and replied, "You can't know that."

"I can have faith, can't I?"

"You never struck me as a faith kind of guy."

He shrugged and said, "I'm beginning to see Shakespeare might have been right about that whole heaven and earth thing. Anything is possible, Claire."

They froze suddenly at the sound of a door unlocking. The didn't have time to react before the figure crossed the doorway of the living room.

"Peter?" Claire asked, standing up from the couch. "How did you get in?"

He stopped and turned toward her, blinking once to get used to the sight of his niece as a redhead. "I grew up here," he stated simply. "Where's Mikey?"

"He's in your old room with Micah."

"Thanks," Peter muttered before taking the stairs two at a time.

Claire sighed and looked down at her bare feet. Zach gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She was grateful he said nothing as she simply rested her head on his chest.

* * *

"Peter, what are you doing here?" Noah asked, stepping out of the upstairs office and effectively stopping the younger man before he could get to his old bedroom.

Peter turned around and said, "I'm here to get Mikey."

"It's one o'clock in the morning."

"Elle's awake and she wants to see him," Peter replied. "More than anything, though, I think she just wants to get him away from you. She's terrified of you, Noah. Why is that?"

Noah didn't fail to notice the venomous edge to Peter's voice. "Elle Bishop and I have a very complicated history."

"Everyone has a complicated history with you," Peter retorted. "And you know what, I don't really give a damn right now. I'm just going to take a little boy back to his mother."

"Peter, that woman is dangerous."

"So am I!" he hissed back. "Look, I don't know what happened all those years ago, but right now, I'm going to take that woman's son to her. Don't you dare try to stop me."

* * *

A/N: So...the story Zach told was inspired by allegedly true events: a friend of mine relayed the story to me one boring day at work. It made me laugh at the stupid things alcohol will make people do. Thanks for reading.


	6. I Feel Like A Monster

A/N: So...I totally blew off my essay on Dracula to write this, but that's what the weekend is for, and I can BS for a page and a half and it'll be cool. Enjoy.

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

Peter sat in the infinitely uncomfortable chair in Elle's hospital room. He hadn't said anything to her, though she thanked him profusely. Mikey was sleeping comfortably in an old basinet Emma found in storage. The Haitian still kept his silent vigil in the hall. Emma had gone in search of food and coffee even though it was early for breakfast.

"I thought you'd be interrogating me," Elle said quietly, not making eye contact.

Peter laughed mirthlessly. "I haven't figured out where to start. Should I ask why the hell you're so afraid of Noah Bennet, or why Gabriel thinks he murdered you?"

Elle's face contorted in confusion. "How do you know what Gabriel thinks?"

"He's kind of been living with me," Peter explained.

Elle's eyebrows arched upward. "He's been living with you? Didn't he try to kill you?"

"He did kill me," Peter corrected. "Why does he think he killed you?"

Elle's hands twisted nervously in her lap. "I don't know. Maybe he had a psychotic break. I was surprised when I woke up on that beach. I thought for a while that I shouldn't be alive. And then I felt that little guy move. I don't know what happened. You should ask Gabriel."

"He jumped out a window."

"He what?"

"It's okay. He can fly."

"Where did he pick up that one?"

"My brother," Peter replied gruffly.

Elle bit her lip. "I wondered how that happened. I knew the whole plane crash thing was a sham. A guy that could actually fly wouldn't just be flying around in a plane by himself."

Peter chuckled humorlessly. They stayed in an awkward silence until Peter said, "Gabriel wouldn't hurt you. Not now. He's different. He even helped us stop Samuel. He's…repented."

Elle nodded slowly. "Yeah, I can see that," she said, barely above a whisper.

"He should know that he's a father."

"Fathers suck," she muttered, hugging herself with her one good arm.

"Not having one around sucks worse," he replied.

Elle looked over at her peacefully sleeping son. "Okay," she whispered. "Whey you find him, you can tell him about Mikey. What happens next is up to him."

Peter nodded, smiling slightly. He started to leave when another thought occurred to him. "Elle, you're the first person that didn't tell me I'm insane or naïve when I suggest Gabriel isn't Sylar anymore. Why are you, of all people, so willing to believe me?"

Elle's eyes glassed over with unshed tears. "The, uh, Company identified Gabriel and they wanted to witness how he got his powers," she choked out. "When I got to him that first time, he was trying to kill himself, he regretted killing that first man so much. I got to know him and I tried to back out, but that damned Bennet, he made me push him into killing someone so they could watch, and it's my fault. All that blood is on our hands."

Peter's stood there stoically as she cried. Only the way he moved his jaw betrayed the anger building inside of him. "It's not your fault, Elle," he told her. "Not all of it. I'll be back in a little while."

He marched out the door and nearly right into Emma. She barely kept the two cups of coffee in her hands from spilling all over the two of them.

"Oh, sorry," Peter said, backing away slightly.

"It's okay," she told him. "I brought you some coffee."

"Thanks," he replied, taking a cup from her and sipping briefly.

"Are you alright?" she asked, noticing his demeanor.

"It's just…I keep finding out really horrible things about the people I trust," he explained, forcing a smile. "It's just been a really long, crappy day."

"It's a new day now," she told him, smiling.

Peter honestly returned her smile. "I guess it is. You should get some rest."

"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Are you sure _you're_ okay?"

"It's just Gabriel thinks Elle is, well, dead, and she said she thought she wasn't supposed to be alive, and it's really…complicated, and, God, I'm sick of saying that," he laughed as he finished speaking.

Emma gave him an understanding smile and gently squeezed his upper arm. Reluctantly she said, "What about Hiro?"

Peter cocked a surprised eyebrow. "What about him?"

"Well, if Elle is alive when she shouldn't be, couldn't a time traveler be responsible?"

Peter's forehead crinkled as he considered her theory. "Yeah, that makes sense," he said, thinking about his dream. "I'll call him. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

He gave her arm an affectionate squeeze before turning away and pulling his phone out of his pocket. He found Hiro's number and dialed. It went to voicemail and he said, "Hey, Hiro. It's Peter. I kind of need your help with something. If you get this message in the next couple of hours, meet me at the Flushing Cemetery in Queens. Thanks."

* * *

Flushing Cemetery, Queens, New York

The cemetery was as foggy as he remembered it from his dream. He could even see the dark, lanky figure of Gabriel in the distance.

"Peter Petrelli."

"Jesus! You shouldn't sneak up on people in graveyards during the middle of the night, Hiro," Peter told the Japanese man when he started breathing again.

"I am sorry. It is still day in Japan," Hiro apologized. "Why did you ask me here? Is the cheerleader alright?"

"She's fine. I wanted to ask you about him," Peter explained, motioning toward the man in the distance.

"Sylar," Hiro concluded. "What do you want to know?"

"Did you do…I don't know, do something in his life?"

Hiro's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

Peter sighed. "It's hard to explain. There's this woman, Elle, that he thinks he killed, and she is very much alive. I was just wondering if you had anything to do with that?"

"I do not think so, but…" Hiro's voice drifted off as he stared toward the man in the distance.

"But what?"

"I told him something once, back in Texas, before he attacked the cheerleader. I told him he would die, and that he would be alone, and no one would mourn him," Hiro explained. "This woman, was she important to him?"

Peter chuckled slightly. "You could say that."

"Perhaps a part of him did not want to kill her, and he has forgotten," Hiro suggested. "It could be the butterfly effect from what I said to him."

Peter blinked when he heard the words from his dream. "You're probably right. I should go talk to him. Thanks for your help, Hiro."

"It was my pleasure, Peter Petrelli," Hiro replied, bowing slightly.

Peter slowly crossed the foggy expanse toward where Gabriel sat in front of the petite gravestone.

"How did you know where to find me?" Gabriel asked without turning around.

"I had a dream."

"I didn't think you had that ability anymore."

"I don't," Peter said, sitting down next to him on the grass. "Who is Virginia Gray?"

"My mother. My adoptive mother. I killed her too. Didn't really mean to, though. I meant to kill Elle," Gabriel said, staring down at his lap.

Peter considered him for a moment. "Do you remember killing her, Gabriel? Do you _actually_ remember the moment Elle died?"

"I…I _wanted _to kill her. She lied to me. She thought I was a monster. She should have died!"

"That's not an answer," Peter reminded him gently.

"No, I don't remember it. Not really," Gabriel said, tears forming in his eyes.

Peter nodded. "Maybe some part of you didn't want to kill her," he suggested. "Maybe what Hiro said to you in Texas had more impact than you thought."

"How do you know what Hiro said to me?"

"He just told me," Peter explained, smirking slightly and motioning back toward the now-empty spot where he and Hiro stood. "Gabriel, I know she was important to you."

"She helped turn me into a monster."

"I know. She told me."

Gabriel shook his head. "I guess she told you we slept together too," he grumbled.

Peter laughed nervously. "She, uh, didn't really have to," he explained hesitantly. "Gabriel, there's something else you should know: Elle has a son. He's a year old."

Gabriel's eyes widened in near-terror. "No, no, you're not serious."

Peter grabbed the other man's arm and kept him in place. "Don't you dare run away again," he said, his anger creating a hard edge in his voice. "Gabriel, you have a son. He looks just like you except he has blue eyes like Elle."

"This is ridiculous," Gabriel replied, laughing desperately. "I'm a killer. Killers aren't supposed to create life, they just take it away. I want to be better, but I could never be a father."

"Yes, you could."

"What are you talking about?"

Peter sighed and said, "I once visited a future where you had a son, and you were a good father. I know you're capable of this."

"Maybe you should become a cheerleader," Gabriel muttered.

Peter started laughing hysterically, though it wasn't really very funny. When he regained control of himself, he said, "So, do you want to meet your son?"

"I…yes, I want to see him," Gabriel concluded.

Peter smiled as he stood up. "Come on. It'll be morning soon."

* * *

Parkman House, Los Angeles

"Janice, you don't have to stay home today."

"Uh-huh, sure," she replied dubiously. "I should go to work so you can try to do everything on your own and hurt yourself even worse than you did yesterday when I had to drive you to the emergency room..._again_."

All Matt could do was shrug sheepishly.

"Now, you are going to sit there and watch TV or whatever and I am going to take care of you and Matty. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, giving her a mock salute.

She glared, but leaned over and kissed his head. "I'm happy to do it, Matt."

"I know you are, Jan. Thanks."

"Alright, then. What do you want for breakfast? Eggs?" she suggested.

"If they're Carbonara style."

"Coming right up," she said, patting his shoulder.

Matt watched his son play with his various toys on the floor. On a bad day, that was always more entertaining than watching television. And the only thing on television lately seemed to be the hunt for Claire Bennet. Her father and probably the Petrellis had kept her hidden over the weekend. Matt wasn't sure if they could keep it up the rest of the week.

The doorbell rang and he couldn't twist himself around to see who was there.

"I'll get it," Janice called out. "Can I help you?"

"Hello, we're friends of Matt's. Is he here?"

Matt recognized that voice. "Mohinder?!" he called out, standing up and hobbling toward the door.

"Matt, you're supposed to stay off your leg!"

Mohinder smiled at him from the doorway. He had a bag on his shoulder and a couple of suitcases sat at his feet. What really caught Matt's attention was the young woman standing next to him. She was taller and tanner and so much more womanly than he remembered, but her face broke into a toothy grin as soon as she saw him.

"Molly?"

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

"Peter. Hey, Peter."

Peter awoke with a jolt and nearly fell off his chair. Hesam grabbed his arm to steady him.

"Whoa, are you okay? Did you sleep here last night?"

"It was more like this morning," Peter explained, rubbing his forehead.

"There's a couch right over there," Hesam reminded him.

"It's more uncomfortable than the chair," Peter replied, walking over to his locker.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," Peter growled.

Hesam rolled his eyes and said, "Look, I know you're mad at me. But all that stuff just happened and I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I know what it's like to be different, and I know that no matter what ability or whatever that you have, you're still human. Unless you're an alien like Superman."

Peter laughed tiredly at Hesam's suddenly bemused expression. "I'm not alien, and I'm not Superman," he said as he pulled on a fresh shirt from his locker.

Hesam smiled slightly before lines of worry stretched across his face. "There's something else you should know. A reporter from the _Times _came to my apartment last night. Her name was, uh, Remy Griffith."

"What did she want?"

"She asked me a bunch of questions about you and your behavior and your relationship with your brother," Hesam explained.

"What did you tell her?" Peter asked, suddenly defensive once more.

"I told her you were a good paramedic, and that you didn't always get along with your brother, but that, just before he died, you were getting along," Hesam replied. "That's all I knew, so that's all I told her."

"You didn't say anything about—"

"Hell, no. If she wants to find out about that crap, she can dig someplace else."

"Thanks," Peter said, smiling gratefully.

"Hey, I know were not cops, or anything, but we're partners, and we should have each other's backs, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, we should."

Gabriel didn't see the Haitian, but he felt his power ebbing. He had walked around every floor in the hospital and even around the block a couple of times. Peter would have shoved him into the room with Ell, but fortunately Peter was so exhausted he nearly fell over. Finally, he stopped at her door and looked inside.

It was hard to look at Elle. Her right arm was in a cast as was her right ankle. He could see gauze wrapping around her right thigh where something flayed the skin. Tiny cuts and bruises covered the rest of her body. Though she slept, her breathing was still labored, probably due to cracked ribs, Gabriel surmised.

Then he saw the sleeping child in the bassinet. Unlike his mother, he was in pristine condition. Peter was right. The boy looked like a miniature of his father, especially with his eyes closed. Gabriel reached out only to jerk his hand away at the last moment. He looked over at Elle only to find her blue eyes staring at him with a mixture of sympathy and pain, but not fear.

He walked over to her and brushed some blonde hair away from her forehead. She didn't flinch.

"Forgive me," she whispered.

Tears stung Gabriel's eyes as he heard the first words he ever uttered to Elle. He smiled slightly, touching his forehead to hers. "Forgive me," he repeated.

* * *

A/N: So, I've been rewatching Volume 3 (which was unfairly criticized in my opinion b/c I think it was just as good as Volume 1 for the most part) and Sylar and Elle just worked so well together and it was so cute, and dangit! Why did Kristen Bell have to go out and start doing all these fancy shmancy movies. Okay, rant over. R&R does not stand for rest and relaxation.


	7. Time to Run

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

Emma quirked an eyebrow when she saw an unfamiliar figure in the file room. The woman wasn't wearing scrubs or a white coat or the black cargo pants the paramedics wore. Instead, she wore a smart suit and heels. A black leather messenger bag hung off of one shoulder and she sipped a cup of coffee from her other hand.

"Can I help you with something?"

The woman turned around and smiled pleasantly. She was very pretty. Blue eyes highlighted alabaster skin and a smattering of tiny freckles beneath a curtain of chestnut hair.

"Hi, I'm not sure I'm in the right place," the woman said. "I'm looking for Emma Coolidge."

"I'm Emma Coolidge," she said, moving around the woman to stand behind her desk.

"Really?" the woman said, her face betraying her surprise. "It's just, well, you speak like you're…deaf."

Emma folded her arms across her chest defensively. "And?"

The woman laughed nervously. "Well, you see, my name is Remy Griffith and I work for the _Times_. I'm doing a story on the Petrelli family, and I've heard around the hospital that you've been seen playing the piano with Peter Petrelli, and people with hearing impairments generally do not play the piano."

Emma just glared. "Beethoven was deaf."

"Touché," Remy conceded, tossing her empty cup in the trash. "So…I guess you _are_ friends with Peter Petrelli? Do you know of anything specific about his brother and Peter's relationship with the late senator?"

"No."

"No, you're not friends with him, or no, you don't know anything about his brother?"

"I'm not going to tell you anything."

Remy's pleasant smile remained in place. "Why are you protecting him?"

"I'm not protecting anyone."

"You don't want to talk about Peter? Fine. Let's talk about you," Remy began again. "You took a sudden leave of absence last week and then you were spotted at the crazy carnival with, incidentally, Peter Petrelli."

"How did you—"

"I'm a reporter. I'm _very_ good at my job and that was my fifth cup of coffee today. Why were you at that carnival?

"That's none of your business," Emma told her as angry tears started filling her eyes.

"When Claire Bennet jumped off that Ferris wheel and walked away without a scratch, it became _everybody's_ business," Remy replied, matter-of-factly. "Tell me why you were at that carnival, and while you're at it, tell me what Peter Petrelli was doing there too."

"Hey."

Emma was never so grateful to see Peter standing in the doorway. He had a bag in his hand and she smelled the familiar scent of Chinese food as he set it on her desk while glaring at the other woman in the room.

"I brought you lunch," Peter said, still staring at the other woman.

Remy smiled knowingly at Emma. "So I guess that was a yes on the friends thing. Mr. Petrelli, I'm Remy Griffith from the _Times_," she said pleasantly, offering a hand to Peter.

He kept his hands in his jacket pockets and said, "What do you want?"

Her smile took on a mischievous air as she withdrew her hand. "I'd like to talk to you about some things relating to your brother…in private."

"You can say what you want right here, or you can get the hell out," Peter told her flatly.

His reaction only grew her smile as she pulled a file out of her messenger bag. "This is picture of Claire Bennet, the apparently invincible girl, at your brother's funeral. Why was she there?"

"I don't know. Maybe she was writing an essay."

Remy's smile was unflappable. "She was also seen at your brother's wake spending time alone with you. Now, Claire Bennet _is_ nineteen, and everyone knows Petrellis prefer blondes, but…" she said, looking significantly at Emma.

"Go to hell," Peter told her, venom in his voice.

"Just to warn you," she said, replacing the file in her bag, "I'm going to find out the truth, Mr. Petrelli. You too, Ms. Coolidge. Have a nice day."

When she was gone, Peter placed a finger beneath her chin and made her look at him. "Hey, are you okay?"

"She-she—"

"It's okay, it's okay," Peter assured her, brushing away a tear with one thumb and tucking a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.

She wrapped her arms around him and laid her head on his shoulder. He responded equally with a hand pressed to the back of her neck and his fingers tangled in her hair.

After a short eternity, she looked up at him and said, "Thank you."

He kissed away a final tear as it rolled down her face. She shivered at the contact, and he suddenly let go of her.

He backed away nearly a foot and said, "The food's gonna get cold."

* * *

Petrelli Mansion, Upper East Side

"This is Monica," Zach said, handing Claire one of Peter's old _9__th__ Wonders_.

"St. Joan?" Claire asked, examining the worn pages. "Why did she choose St. Joan?"

"She didn't," Zach answered. "That's just the name of the character, but the stuff in there, she's done it all."

"Is your little adventure in here?" Claire asked playfully.

"God, I hope not," Zach laughed.

Claire smiled, tossing the comic book into a messy pile they'd made on the floor. "It's nice having someone to talk to again. Gretchen isn't answering my calls."

"Damn it!"

"What?"

"I completely forgot," he began. "We went to see Gretchen before we came to New York. I guess we thought we'd play detective and try to piece together what led up to you jumping off that Ferris wheel, and she wanted you to know that if you wanted to come back to school she'd be there for you, and she also wanted to get her car back. I am so sorry I didn't remember until now."

Claire blinked at all the information Zach spewed. "If she still wants to be my friend, why isn't she returning my calls?" she asked quietly.

"You're not there," Zach reminded her. "You're here, dying your hair red instead of finishing your semester. And…maybe she's just pissed about her car."

Claire laughed slightly. "Well, that I can fix."

Thirty minutes later, they were sitting at the island in the palatial kitchen while Noah talked to Lauren about Gretchen's car.

"Who is this person?" Zach asked before popping a chip in his mouth.

"She works for the CIA."

"And she's your dad's…"

"I don't know," Claire sighed. "I'm not really sure I want to."

"I understand," Zach told her.

Micah suddenly skidded to a halt in the doorway. "Guys, we have a problem," he announced, slightly out of breath. "Peter just called. There's some reporter that's made a connection between Claire and the Petrellis. She was at the hospital today asking him questions."

"Did you hear?" Noah said calmly into the phone. "Make the call."

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to Georgia," he replied, pocketing his phone. "Help them get some things together. We leave in ten."

Micah bounded up the stairs ahead of the other two. Zach grabbed Claire's arm halfway up and said, "Why aren't you fighting this? You wanted to be out in the open. This reporter could be your chance to tell your whole story."

"I thought you were against me exposing myself."

"I am, but it's not my life," he replied. "Why are you so willing to run away from this?"

She sighed deeply and said, "If I tell my story, if I really, truly expose myself, then I expose Peter too. And he is so upset right now that he's not calling me or my dad to tell us we're in trouble, but he's still my uncle and my hero, and I need to respect his wishes right now."

Zach nodded. "Okay. Let's go to Georgia."

"I just hope Dad meant the state and not the country," Claire muttered as they continued up the stairs.

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

"You are a miracle worker," Elle whispered to Gabriel not long after he got Mikey to go to sleep for his nap.

"I know a lot of people that would disagree with you on that," he whispered back, sitting on the edge of her bed.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Anything."

"You and Peter. You were mortal enemies, and he said you helped stopped Samuel and you're staying with him. It's just…I'm pretty sure I'm missing some steps."

"You are," Gabriel told her. "You see, Matt Parkman trapped me in this nightmare, and I was all alone in the world. I felt like three years before Peter even showed up, and felt like five years before we got out of there. I guess we sort of acclimated to one another."

Elle shook her head. "That still doesn't explain what Peter was doing there in the first place."

"He had a dream that I saved Emma, and I guess he wanted to make sure that happened."

Elle's quirked eyebrow grew into a toothy grin.

"What?" Gabriel asked her.

"I think Saint Peter is in love," she replied.

"What are you talking about?"

"Think about it," Elle said dreamily. "He went all the way across the country to get help from his brother's murderer, whom he hated before said murderer killed his brother, and all to save one woman. That's love."

Gabriel shook his head. "He's Peter Petrelli. He wants to save the whole world."

"Not like that," she argued. "He's in love."

"You're crazy," Gabriel told her, standing up.

"Well, I did have a serial killer's baby. That doesn't really say a whole lot for my sanity."

"I guess not," he agreed. "I, uh, have to finish fixing a TV for this woman in Peter's building. I'll bring you some real food later."

"Thanks," she said, suddenly shy. "And, Gabriel?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you bring me some pie?" she asked softly.

He smiled back at her. "Sure."

She watched him leave and then looked at her snoozing son. "You know what's funny, little man?" she whispered. "I used to want your dad to be a total badass, and don't repeat that. But now, I just want to see him be a daddy. I guess Mommy really is loco."

* * *

Parkman House, Los Angeles

Matt smiled as he watched Molly played on the floor with Matty. Mohinder was sitting in a nearby chair sipping a cup of tea while Janice made them sandwiches in the kitchen.

"Where have you been? I called you a few weeks ago and you never even called me back?" Matt asked.

"I was in an insane asylum."

"Oh. Why?"

"That's where Hiro Nakamura put me," Mohinder explained. "He was just trying to hide me from Samuel Sullivan, and he and Ando did eventually break me out, so I suppose I should be grateful."

Matt shook his head. "Hiro does seem to do things his own way. I'm glad you two are back. Especially you," he said to Molly.

She smiled at him as she caught the fuzzy ball Matty threw to her. "I've been keeping an eye on you, so I didn't miss you as much as I should have," she joked, sending the ball back to the toddler.

"I should have kept a better eye on you, Molly. I promised you I would," Matt told her solemnly.

"It's okay. I had Ajji," she explained.

Matt cast a sidelong glance at Mohinder who supplied, "My grandmother."

"I speak Hindi very badly now, but I know how to put on a sari, which is _way_ more complicated than you think. Hey! I'm gonna get you for that one!" Molly yelled in response to the ball that collided with her head. She chased after the little boy on her hands and knees as Matty giggled wildly.

Matt's smile grew as he watched them. "She always bounces back."

"She is remarkable that way," Mohinder agreed.

"Guess I don't need to ask why you are guys are back," Matt said. "Claire's leap off that Ferris wheel has sort of been like the shot heard 'round the world."

"It's been non-stop on the news, even in India."

"I'm surprised no one else has come out."

"Give it a few more days," Mohinder advised. "You have to remember the Company terrorized specials the world over. I'm everyone is still a little reticent. The fact that Claire has seemingly disappeared isn't helping either."

"I'm sure her father took care of that," Matt grumbled.

Mohinder leaned forward and set his cup of tea on the coffee table. "I've already started getting calls about my father's research."

"Well he did hit the nail on the head. You both did," Matt reminded him.

"But what do I do about it? It's not as though I could go on the news and reveal the identity of every person I've met with abilities, and other than Claire I would have no proof," Mohinder argued.

"People are going to want to know if there are more of us, and what we can do. Isn't it better if they meet you and me rather than Sylar or Knox or, you know, my father?"

"Perhaps. But Matt, think about it. Do you really want to expose your wife and child to the insane world we've lived in?"

Matt fell silent and sighed. "I don't know. I'll have to talk to Janice, but…every time I've tried to live a normal life, something happens and we're all at risk again. If we come out now, maybe we won't be surprised the next time something happens."

"And maybe the next time something happens, the government will be putting all of us in a place like Coyote Sands."

"That's a risk we might just have to take."

* * *

Midtown Manhattan

"You okay? You look kind of down."

"I'm just tired," Peter assured his partner. "I had a weird night."

"Has today been better? You had lunch with Emma, right?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And nothing."

"Come on, something must have happened," Hesam argued. "You've been down-_er_ since lunch."

Peter shook his head and sighed. "That reporter you told me about was in the file room when I got there."

"Damn. That woman must never sleep."

"I don't know what she said exactly, but Emma was almost in tears," Peter continued. "I got the reporter to go away, but Emma was still really upset. And I hugged her and, I don't know, she just sort of freaked out, and I backed off. We ate lunch, but it was…awkward and we didn't really say anything."

"What did she do?" Hesam asked with a quirked eyebrow. "Did she smack you? Push you away? Call you a jerk?"

"No."

"Then you probably shouldn't have backed off."

Peter glared at his partner. "Why are you such an expert?"

"I've worked at that hospital longer than you have and you are the only person I've ever seen her talk to more than once," Hesam explained. "And she's the only woman you look at for more than three seconds unless they're bleeding. Besides, I walked in on you two nearly kissing yesterday."

"We weren't—"

"Yes, you were."

Peter rolled his eyes and said, "I'm not talking about this anymore."

"Fine."

A few moments later, the radio operator requested assistance at a nearby bank for a robbery that just went down badly. Hesam turned on the lights while Peter radioed in their response. The police told them the area was secure when they arrived. Most of the victims were suffering from shock and the effects of tear gas, but one had a bullet in their leg. Peter and Hesam quickly stabilized him and loaded him into the back of the ambulance.

Peter almost had the doors closed when a shot rang out. Hesam saw his partner crumple to the ground before he heard the ricochet.

"Peter!" he yelled, catching the other man and pressing a hand to the side of his neck. "Shit! I need some help over here!"

Peter was already turning white as the blood gushed through Hesam's fingers. Hesam pressed down harder and said, "You gotta stay with me, man. Come on!"

Peter's eyes rolled back in his head and his body suddenly stilled.

* * *

A/N: I know, I'm evil. Elle and Gabriel were really fluffy in this installment, but the angst will come when she's, you know, out of the hospital. And Remy Griffith is the evil twin of a character from a completely series. Can you figure out who? Thanks for reading.


	8. Arise, Shine

A/N: So...parts of this chapter I really love, and parts of it I'm a little iffy on. I don't pick up directly where I left off, but pieces from the previous chapter are in italics. Enjoy!

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York

Emma aimlessly wandered the halls. She wasn't entirely sure what happened earlier with Peter. It scared her how comfortable she'd become with him in a relatively short amount of time. She was only that comfortable and open with her parents, and at one time, her brother. She'd had very few outside relationships, romantic or otherwise, and she hadn't thought that maybe he was just as frightened as she.

She stopped when she realized she was at Elle's room. The petite blonde was sitting awkwardly on the floor, playfully grabbing at her son as he ran circles around her.

"What are you doing?" Emma asked her.

"Oh, we were bored," Elle answered sheepishly.

"You shouldn't be out of bed," Emma told her. "You could make your injuries worse."

"But…Mikey wanted to play," Elle explained in a mildly whiny voice.

"You won't be able to play with him if your leg opens up and you bleed to death."

"Well, you're just full of sunshine and roses today," Elle said as Emma helped her to her one good leg. Mikey wailed as his mother got farther away from him.

"Mikey, sweetie, it's okay," Elle assured him.

Once Emma had the other woman ensconced on the bed, she hoisted Mikey up on her hip. The boy immediately stopped crying and cooed pleasantly.

"He likes you," Elle said, signing awkwardly with her left hand.

"You sign?" Emma asked as she sat Mikey down on the bed and put up the barriers on the sides.

"Oh, that's a good idea," Elle commented. "And I know a lot of languages. It was a requirement of my last job."

"Oh," Emma said, suddenly a little uncomfortable. "You mean the job where you held people prisoner?"

It was then Elle's turn to be uncomfortable. "So, I guess Peter told you about that. Makes sense."

"What do you mean?"

Elle bit her lip considering what to say next. "You know, I'm probably the last person that should be saying this to you, or at all, but Peter really likes you. And I mean _really_ likes you," Elle told her, signing as well to emphasize her point. "He should give you the details sometime, but he made a huge emotional sacrifice to save you from Samuel."

"I, uh…" Emma stammered, looking for an exit.

"He'll probably kill me for saying this later, but you should know because the only reason that alter boy would make the first move would be to lull you into a false sense of security so he can escape."

"What?" Emma asked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Never mind," Elle quickly excused. "It's just…Peter is good to the point of being annoying. That's something you should remember."

"I'll, um, do that," Emma said before leaving the room as politely as possible. Elle was strange, but her opinion on Peter's feelings made Emma's stomach flip. She could mull it over in her head repeatedly, but coming out of someone else's mouth made the whole situation far too real.

When she got closer to her office, she noticed a lot of people running toward the main desk just to apparently listen to the radio. Normally she wouldn't care, but worry etched the faces of everyone around.

"What's going on?" she asked one of the orderlies.

Confusion passed his face for half a second before he answered, "A couple of our paramedics got called to a robbery, and now they're stuck in the middle of a shootout."

"Which paramedics?"

"Hesam Fallahi and Peter Petrelli."

Emma swore her heart stopped. The orderly moved away from her and she couldn't get his attention again. Everyone drew closer to the radio and she could read their lips to figure out what was happening. An angry, red color drifted up from the crowd and she closed her eyes and turned away from it. She rushed back to her office as unbidden tears started flowing from her eyes.

* * *

Midtown Manhattan

_"Peter!" he yelled, catching the other man and pressing a hand to the side of his neck. "Shit! I need some help over here!"_

_ Peter was already turning white as the blood gushed through Hesam's fingers. Hesam pressed down harder and said, "You gotta stay with me, man. Come on!"_

_ Peter's eyes rolled back in his head and his body suddenly stilled._

"Shit shit shit! Peter, no! I need some help over here!" Hesam screamed into a crowd still focusing on bringing down the new shooter.

"Damn it!" Hesam moaned in defeat.

He jumped back when Peter's chest heaved. He gasped for air and his eyes rolled back to the front. Hesam looked in his hand and found a tiny pieced of metal in the mass of blood. He sat there slack-jawed as his partner coughed and pushed himself to an upright position.

"What the hell?"

"I don't know," Peter answered, still out of breath.

Hesam looked around to find that the police were hauling the shooter out of the building and things started to calm down. He pulled Peter to his feet, and, noticing the massive amount of blood on his white shirt, said, "You might want to put your jacket on. Let's get the hell out of here."

* * *

Parkman House, Los Angeles

Molly rolled over on her cot and picked up her beeping phone. It was a long message, but it came with the author's usual jollity and optimism. She got up, careful not to wake the toddler in his crib.

"…a terrible idea, Matt. It's only been a couple of days. We don't even know what this Claire girl is dealing with right now," she heard Janice say.

"Actually, _I_ kind of do," Molly said, stepping into the living room.

"Um, how?" Matt asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"Well…" Molly began cautiously, "um, last year, when the government was tracking us down, do you remember getting messages from 'Rebel'?"

"Yeah."

"I'm fairly sure all of us did at one point or another," Mohinder said from the doorway of the guest bedroom. "Why do you ask?"

"Rebel is Micah Sanders. Do you remember him from Kirby Plaza?"

"You're telling us Rebel was a _kid_?" Matt asked incredulously.

"Molly, how do you know any of this?" Mohinder asked, taking a seat across from Matt.

She smiled slyly. "How do you think Micah knew where any of you were at any given moment?"

"Molly, that's dangerous!"

"What were you thinking?"

"You could have exposed yourself."

Molly folded her arms across her chest and glared at the two men across the room. Janice looked between all of them and cleared her throat.

"Molly, you said you knew something about Claire," she pointed out.

"Oh, yeah, Micah's with her, and they're on their way to Tracy Strauss' safe house in Georgia," she muttered before turning back toward the room she shared with Matty.

"Molly, wait—"

Janice took over the glare Molly had previously fixed on them. "Excuse me, but what gives you the right judge her decisions?"

"Janice, we—"

"You what? You played her two dads for a year? Where have you guys been for the last _two_ years?"

"We had no choice," Mohinder argued. "All we wanted was to keep her safe."

"She's not twelve," Janice replied. "She's fifteen and when you two can figure that out, maybe you'll have a shot at picking up where you left off."

Matt and Mohinder looked at one another sheepishly as Janice stalked off toward the kitchen.

* * *

Peter Petrelli's Apartment, Lower East Side

A knock sounded at the door just as Gabriel finished screwing the outer cover onto a thirty-year-old television. He looked out the peephole and his stomach flipped involuntarily.

"I know you're in there, Gabriel. Open the door," Angela Petrelli told him in her all-too-calm manner.

Reluctantly, he opened the door, but said nothing as she came inside. She looked as imperious as ever and Gabriel vaguely wondered why the woman owned so many suits. It wasn't as though she ever had a job, not one that could be taxed anyway.

"I want you to leave," she told him as he closed the door.

He smirked slightly and said, "That really doesn't surprise me."

"I think you misunderstand me," she replied, smiling in a way that would make lesser men shiver. "I want you to leave _now._ Here is a key to my family's cabin on Lake Placid. Take your son and his mother and stay up there."

Gabriel regarded the key in his hand briefly and asked, "Why?"

"Because a reporter has nearly made the connection between Claire and my family, and when she finds out the truth, Peter will be right in the middle," Angela explained. "He doesn't need a wanted murderer or his psychotic girlfriend hanging around to make things even more difficult for him."

He scoffed and shook his head. "Like you suddenly care for Peter's well-being?"

"He's my _son_. I love him."

"Just because you believe that doesn't make it true."

She smiled at him coolly. "Leave today, Gabriel. I won't ask again."

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York

"We thought you boys were in some serious trouble," the nurse said as Peter and Hesam filled out their paperwork.

"Yeah, well, we thought we were in some serious trouble for a minute there, too," Hesam replied tightly.

"Everyone was worried," the nurse went on. "Even that quiet girl from the file room was out here."

Peter finally looked up, and Hesam took the clipboard from him. "Go on. I'll finish this."

"Thanks," Peter muttered before walking toward the filing room.

He found Emma behind her desk and her back toward the door. She flinched when he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, but she jumped out of her chair and threw her arms around his neck when she saw it was him. Peter sighed in relief as he returned her embrace. She let go of him slightly and he could see that her eyes were red and puffy from crying.

"They-they said you were in trouble, but I couldn't hear, and no one would tell me anything, and-and—"

"It's okay. I'm fine," he said, trying to smile reassuringly.

Her brow furrowed when she saw the blood on his collar. She pushed his jacket aside and her jaw went slack from sight of the large red stain on his shirt. He backed away slightly and covered the stain back up with his jacket.

"Peter, did-did your patient die?"

"No."

"Then—"

"It's my blood."

Her eyes widened. "If-if you lost that much blood, you should be dead."

He shifted nervously. "I did die. I didn't know I still had that power, but I'm fine. I think the shirt's done for, though," he said, chuckling.

Emma suddenly grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the mouth. Before Peter's brain could tell his body to respond, however, she backed away and kept her eyes from his face. "I have to go," she said, grabbing her purse and jacket.

"What? Wait-Emma!" he yelled after her even though he knew it would do him no good. She already bolted around the corner and out of the building. It took all of his strength to keep from punching a hole in the wall.

"Peter?"

He turned to find Gabriel walking toward him from the other end of the hallway. "What?" Peter asked, his voice thoroughly defeated.

"Are you okay? You don't look so good."

"I'm fine," Peter replied firmly.

"Your shirt's covered in blood."

"I'm a paramedic."

Gabriel furrowed his brow dubiously and said, "The last time my shirt was that messed up, I'd been laying in a pool of my own blood."

"Lay off," Peter growled.

"Fine," Gabriel replied, his hands held up in a motion of surrender. "Your mother came by your apartment."

Peter sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. "What the hell did _she_ want?"

"She told me there was a reporter about to uncover the truth about Claire and the Petrellis and she didn't want me around you when the truth came out," Gabriel explained. "She gave me a key to a cabin on Lake Placid and told me to take Elle and Mikey with me."

Peter shook his head. "It figures she already knew about the reporter. She's probably right, though. You should go. You need to keep your family safe."

Gabriel scoffed slightly and replied, "Family. That sounds strange."

"That's what they are," Peter told him. "If Mom wanted all of you to leave, she probably arranged an early release for Elle. Go on upstairs and get her out of here."

"You sure you'll be okay?"

"I'm fine," Peter told him firmly. "Now, go."

* * *

Brooklyn

"Can I help you?"

Remy Griffith turned around and flashed the balding, flannel-clad man a winning smile. "Yes, actually. I'm looking for Mohinder Suresh. His father wrote this book and I hav?e so many questions, but his father passed away so I thought Mohinder might be able to help me. Google says this building was his last known address."

"He went back to India, or Iran, or wherever the hell he was from," the super answered.

"Oh," Remy replied feigning surprise. "Well, did he have a roommate or someone that could help me get in contact with him?"

"Lady, those guys were into some seriously messed up shit. I'm talking Feds-breaking-down-the-doors type shit," the super told her. "I am _not _going to get involved in that mess again."

"Please," Remy said, grabbing his arm. "It's very, _very_ important to me."

The super looked down at the hundred-dollar bill Remy had slipped into his hand. He sighed heavily and said, "Matt Parkman. Kind of a big guy. Cop. I think he went back to L.A. That's all I know."

"You've been very helpful," Remy told him, smiling widely.


	9. Darkness Shall Cover the Earth

A/N: This update is super-short, but where I ended it seemed like a natural place to leave you hanging b/c I'm evil. Just to clarify, the italics in this chapter indicate a dream sequence. Also, lately, I've been Gilmored (meaning my fanfic tends to be lately lots of talking and very little real plot, so I decided to start a real plot after eight chapters) enjoy!

* * *

Somewhere along I-87

"I can_not_ believe you are doing this," Elle muttered, pouting.

"Doing what?" Gabriel asked.

"Doing exactly what Angela fucking Petrelli tells you to."

"Hey, watch it," Gabriel chided, glancing at their sleeping son in the backseat.

"He's asleep and he's a year old, he won't remember Mommy's potty mouth," Elle argued. "Why are you doing this? It's not like she's your mother."

"Yes, Elle, I _know_ that," he said pointedly.

She shrunk a little in her seat and said, "Sorry, but, really Gabriel, why are you doing this? Why would you want to protect that horrible, awful, terrible, atrocious, nasty, horrible—"

"You already said horrible."

Elle rolled her eyes and said, "You get my point, though, right?"

"Yes, and I'm not doing this because she told me to. Why do you think I stole her Land Rover to drive up there? I'm doing this for Peter."

"Oh, are you guys like a _thing_ now?"

"Elle."

"I know. Five years in a nightmare does things to people. I guess I've just never had that sort of connection with anyone…except for him," she said, smiling back at her son.

Gabriel followed her gaze and a small smile crept onto his own face. "Why did you name him Mikey?"

Elle looked down and smiled. "Michael was an archangel, a messenger…like Gabriel," she explained.

He regarded her strangely out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't think you believed in any of that stuff."

She looked up at him and said, "I believe everyone has a soul that can be saved. I even thought _you_ had a soul. I always did. I just…doubted, sometimes."

"I doubted it too," he confessed. "Sometimes I still do."

"Don't," she told him, wrapping her small hand around his.

He smiled slightly as he laced her fingers through hers while they drove farther into the night.

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment, Midtown Manhattan

Emma knew how to make quick decisions. It was necessary to be a doctor. She did not, however, make rash decisions. Rash decisions got people hurt. She made a rash decision to join Samuel's carnival, and thousands of people nearly died. She made a rash decision to kiss Peter Petrelli. She couldn't figure out yet who would wind up hurt because of that one.

She lay awake in her bed at four-thirty in the morning rolling the events of the day over and over. Peter nearly kissed her, and then abruptly backed off. Then he died and she kissed him. Unsure of what to do next, she simply ran before either of them could do anything else.

In retrospect, running away was probably not the best idea. It was bound to give the wrong impression, although Emma wasn't entirely sure what the right impression was. Peter was the only person outside of her family she had really even spoken to in the last few years, and she connected with him. She didn't know if she loved him, but she knew she couldn't lose him.

Finally sick of the never-ending circus of thoughts in her head, she threw off the covers and went to the stove to boil some water for tea. She was going to start training her replacement in a few hours. She was also grateful that it was Peter's day off, although that wasn't a guarantee that he wouldn't take a shift and show up anyway. She wasn't sure she could face him so soon.

She shook her head to empty it as steam shot out of the spout. It was going to be a long day.

_

* * *

It was bright and sunny and happy. Peter couldn't remember a day so beautiful since his childhood, before he knew how ugly the world really was. He was on a beach in the Hamptons near where his family used to vacation. Someone tightly gripped his right hand and he looked over to find Emma smiling at him in her shy fashion. It took him a moment to recognize her. She was wearing a thin, flowing dress and her hair hung down in soft curls around her shoulders. He couldn't remember seeing her quite so uncoiled and happy._

_ He leaned over and kissed her gently as if it were the most natural thing to do. And she kissed him back, her arms wrapping around his neck as he pulled their bodies flush against one another. It was blissful. It was beautiful. It was right._

_ A scream pierced the air. Peter's head whipped around to find Elle weeping over Gabriel's body a few feet away. Mikey cried, sitting in a pool of his father's blood. In the other direction, Tracy Strauss and Noah Bennet were yelling for everyone to follow them away from the water. Peter recognized Molly Walker and Micah Sanders among the throng. Zach pulled a weeping Claire away from the body of someone Peter couldn't see. Zach bore a scar along one side of his face and one of his arms was missing. Peter looked down and saw blood seeping up through the sand. Emma tightened her hold on his waist. He looked up and saw Remy Griffith with her ever-present smile._

_ "For behold," she began, "the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people…"_

_ The sun disappeared from the sky and darkness so black he couldn't see the woman he loved covered them all._

Peter gasped for air as his brain jumped back to consciousness. The clock on the floor next to the mattress read 4:37 a.m. He wiped the sweat from his face and sat up, still breathing heavily. There was no doubt in his mind that he just had a vision of the future. It was the sort of nightmare he hadn't had since he first saw himself explode nearly three years before.

He wanted to call his mother and ask her what it all meant, but he knew that would be pointless. Angela Petrelli shared only what suited her purposes and nothing more.

He got up and rummaged around in the sparse contents of his kitchen cabinets and was almost surprised to find what he was looking for. He swallowed one of the sleeping pills and gulped down a glass of water. His body was still so exhausted, he knew he didn't need it to sleep, but he didn't want to see that dream again. He just wanted sleep.

* * *

A/N: I know...I'm horrible. R&R does not mean rest and relaxation. Thanks!


	10. Open Up Your Eyes

A/N: Three updates in three days...I'm totally on a roll. Hope you agree. Enjoy!

* * *

Tracy Strauss' Home, Savannah, Georgia

"You owe me big now, Bennet, I hope you know that," Tracy told him as she lead him into the study.

"I will make it up to you, Tracy. I promise," he told her, closing the door behind them. "You have to keep her away from the news media. You know what's going to happen when the rest of them get scared."

"Yes, actually, I do remember what Jeremy looked like after the cops were finished dragging him through the streets," Tracy replied, folding her arms across her chest. "Where are you going?"

"Back to New York," Noah answered shortly. "The Petrellis aren't dealing with this situation appropriately, especially Peter."

"You guys all act like the Petrellis have all the answers," she said. "I hate to break it to you, but they screw things up about as much they fix them. As a matter of fact, have they _ever_ actually fixed anything?"

"Peter saved Claire's life, and we wouldn't have had time to stop Samuel without him," Noah explained. "But, right now he's being very stubborn, and it could end up hurting a _lot_ of people if this gets out of control."

"You guys have an awful lot of faith in a senator's wimpy kid brother."

Noah looked at her from over the rim of his glasses, smiling slightly. "Trust me, Tracy. You should have a little faith in him, too."

* * *

Claire shook her head as she watched her father drive away from a second floor window.

"You're just going to let him go?" Zach asked from the doorway.

"I think I'm done getting mad at him," she replied in resignation. "It's like fighting city hall."

Zach chuckled and sat down next to her on the window seat. "Why is he leaving?"

"To help my grandmother handle things with the reporter, I guess. He'll be a company man until the day he dies," she muttered. "It's one of his best and worst qualities."

"I'm just…worried about Peter," she confessed, tearing her eyes away from the window and looking him in the eye. "Nathan dying _really_ messed him up. I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't been there. He was going completely off the rails, and now he thinks Sylar has changed and he's not speaking to me, and I just left him in New York with…a lot of problems."

Zach leaned back and smiled knowingly. "Here's a crazy thought: call him."

"What?"

"Call Peter. Call Gretchen. Call your mom, or, hell call Lyle," Zach told her. "Just call _someone._ That's what people do when the world is getting shot to shit. They call their families and friends."

"What if they don't answer?" she asked, idly pulling at a loose thread on her jeans.

"Then they don't answer," Zach replied. "But you, sitting up here, staring out the window, doing _nothing_? That's not you. You've declared that you're done hiding from the world, Claire Bennet. You definitely shouldn't hide from the people that care about you."

He slipped a phone into her hand before he gently kissed the side of her face and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

Elle was fidgety. This was partially due to the fact that she couldn't really do anything because her right side was still battered from the car accident, and partially because she was in a cabin in the woods with no one but Gabriel and Mikey.

Mikey was down for his nap in one of the bedrooms. There were four bedrooms and a loft in the cabin. It was definitely a Petrelli version of a cabin in the woods: rustic on the outside, all of the amenities essential to modern life on the inside. She was stretched out on one of the leather couches while Gabriel read near the fireplace.

She thought about what he had said the night before in the car about having doubts about his redemption. She wondered what happened when his doubts got the better of him. The last time they had, she woke up on a beach bleeding and about to be a meal for a pack of feral cats. And so, she fidgeted.

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking up from his copy of_ The Pillars of the Earth_.

"Sure."

He looked at her dubiously and set the book aside. "For a lifelong company girl, you're a terrible liar. What's wrong?" he asked, sitting down on top of the coffee table across from her.

She bit her lip and mumbled, "I'm an idiot."

"Huh?"

"I watched horror movies when my dad was out of town. I'm the idiot girl that willingly follows the serial killer into the woods to die," she spewed as Gabriel's eyes took on a hard edge that looked strange behind his glasses. She continued, "You know, if I have doubts, it's my own problem. I you have doubts, it's everybody's problem. It could be the whole damned world's problem!"

"Goddammit," he muttered under his breath. "Really, Elle? That's what you're worried about?"

"Why shouldn't I? You murdered my father. You nearly killed me twice."

"God, I'm such an idiot," he said, standing and running his hands through his hair. "How could I think you had actually forgiven me?"

"I have forgiven you. I forgave you a long time ago."

"You could have fooled me," he said, too-cheerfully, from across the room. "When did you forgive me? I honestly can't tell."

Elle struggled to an upright position and brushed her blonde bangs out of her eyes. "I forgave you because you gave me a reason to live."

Gabriel's brow furrowed and his stance softened as he said, "What?"

"Mikey," Elle explained, motioning toward the room where the child was sleeping. "I, uh, I was getting picked up on the streets, and then shock the bastards and take their wallets for money, and then I found out I was pregnant, and I knew it was yours and I knew you were out there in the world hurt and hurting others and it was my fault, and I was standing on a bridge and I was gonna jump, and…he moved. They're not supposed to move at that stage, but he did, and I wouldn't have him without you. He's saved me everyday since, and so…I forgave you. That doesn't mean I'm not scared of you."

Gabriel's body uncoiled and he sat down next to her. She didn't turn to look at him when he brushed her hair off her shoulders. She kept her eyes focused on her shoes as he spoke.

"Elle, what happened on the beach that night happened because you lied to me. You let me believe I had a family," he began quietly. "All I ever really wanted was a family, so I wouldn't be alone. What I didn't realize at the time, was that you were all the family I was ever going to have, you and Mikey. I know I don't deserve a second chance, but that's you are right now. You're my second chance, and, yeah, I'm scared too, but…I'm not going to hurt you, or our son," he said firmly. "I'll die first."

Tears rolled gently down Elle's cheeks as she smiled at him. "Kiss me," she said softly.

He leaned forward and tenderly pressed his lips to hers. A cry rang out from Mikey's room just as they moved closer and mouths opened to one another. Gabriel reluctantly pulled back and said, "I'll get him."

She smiled as she watched him go. Elle wasn't fidgety anymore.

* * *

Parkman House, Los Angeles

"Hey, can I come in?" Janice asked, lightly knocking on the slightly ajar door to Matty's room.

"Of course," Molly answered, setting her phone aside. "It's not really my room. Sorry."

"Well, it's your room for now," Janice assured her, sitting down in a chair near Molly's cot. "Can I ask who you were texting?"

"Oh, just Micah," Molly answered quickly. "He's bored. I'm bored. I guess I should probably come out of here and apologize to Matt and Mohinder."

"Apologize for what? Rebel saved their butts a bunch of times last year, and in weird way brought this family back together. They should be proud of you."

Molly smiled sheepishly and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "You're really nice," she said. "I didn't know what you'd be like. Matt never talked about you much because you'd just gotten divorced, and…"

"I understand," Janice replied. "He talked about you, though. He wanted to contact you, but he was never sure if it was safe, and…"

"I understand," Molly parroted.

"Well, we're both very understanding people, apparently," Janice joked back. "I get the feeling this lull in the danger won't last, so, while things are still normal, would you like to go shopping with me. I think the guys can manage on their own for a few hours and I noticed you didn't have much in the way of clothes."

Molly smiled back at her gratefully. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd love to."

* * *

Peter Petrelli's Apartment, Lower East Side

Taking a sleeping pill had been a horrible idea. Combined with his natural fatigue, the drugs seemingly only made his dreams worse. The last time, the smell of the blood had been so real he vomited as soon as he woke up. He took a cold shower, but it didn't help. He still felt nauseated and dizzy and very, very alone. At least with Gabriel in the apartment, the place felt fuller. Without him, it just looked like the collection of junk that it was.

He sat down on the floor, and leaned back against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. He suddenly wished he had a TV or a radio or that he hadn't destroyed his police scanner after waking up from that dream the second time. The only noise came from the clock Gabriel built him, and it was about to drive him insane.

He was grateful when his phone started ringing. "Hello."

"Peter?" the voice on the other end asked uncertainly.

"Claire," he stated.

A pregnant silence ensued before she said, "I, uh, I just wanted to let you know we made it out of New York without running into that Remy woman. I'm in Georgia, at Tracy's safe house."

"Good," Peter replied simply.

Claire took a deep breath and said, "I'm not sorry I revealed myself, Peter. I'm not. But I am sorry that it hurt you. Peter, you're the last person in the world I would ever want to hurt because you're one of the very, very few people that's never hurt me."

Peter sighed. "I know, Claire," he replied. "I know, and I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that. It's just…I don't have that many people in my life I trust either, and I trusted you."

"Are you alone right now?" she asked. "No Sylar?"

"He went upstate with Elle and Mikey so they wouldn't run into that reporter."

"Why did he go with Elle and Mikey?"

"Mikey is his son. You do the math."

"Oh. _Oh_. That makes sense in a really weird sort of way."

"Doesn't it?" Peter chuckled slightly.

A more comfortable silence fell over the conversation.

"You're probably sitting in your apartment staring at the wall right now, aren't you?" she said finally.

Peter smirked slightly and replied, "Actually, I'm staring at my bed. What's your point?"

"You shouldn't be alone like that, Peter."

"Claire—"

"No, listen to me, I've had some time to think about it in the last few days," she began, cutting him off. "No matter what was going on, I've always had someone I could trust, someone I could confide in. You haven't. Your entire family has screwed you over at some point. You've had no one."

"Claire, I-I've had someone, okay?"

"Then why are you sitting in your apartment all alone?"

Peter glanced around at his sparse surroundings and stood to his feet. "Claire, I have to go. I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye."

He slipped his phone back in his pocket and grabbed his coat before walking out his door.

* * *

Central Park

Emma found it necessary to take a walk by lunchtime. The new file clerk was barely twenty and a bleached blonde. She was smart enough, but she talked incessantly and she rarely ever looked at Emma when she spoke, even though Emma had asked her to repeatedly. Ariel, that was her name, also wore low-cut tops and flirted with every other man that walked into the office. Emma decided she was trained enough to last alone for an hour.

She jumped when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She felt an odd mixture of relief and trepidation when she saw it was Peter. He looked pale and dehydrated, but his attempt at a smile was genuine.

"Hi," he said simply.

"Hi," she replied, shifting uncomfortably and not meeting his eyes.

"I went by the hospital," he explained. "The new girl said you went for a walk. I know you like to come here."

"Oh," Emma replied, surprised to feel pangs of jealousy just because he met Ariel.

"I, uh, I should probably be asking why you kissed me, or why you ran away, but…I don't really care."

Emma's shoulders slumped as her heart sank and tears welled in her eyes.

"That's not what I meant," Peter said, reading her thoughts and taking a step closer to her. "I don't care why you did any of it because…I need you. Emma, I really need you in my life. I don't care why, but I'm begging you not to run away from me again."

She felt herself molding into his embrace as one of his hands grasped her jacket and the rested on the side of her face. She brushed a tear away with her thumb as it rolled down his cheek.

"I need you, too," she confessed.

He closed the gap and caught her lips in his. To his pleasant surprise, she pulled him closer. Neither of them cared that it was December in New York, or that people were watching.

* * *

Los Angeles

"Oh my God, you're kidding," Remy said into her phone as she got out of her rental car. "The saintliest Petrelli was making out with the little deaf girl in Central Park? God, this is so great. Find out everything you can on this Emma Coolidge. I want to know all her dirty little secrets. She's a part of this too. I should be back tomorrow. Talk to you then."

She stashed her phone in her purse and knocked on the glass door of the thoroughly modern-style house. A young, handsome Indian man opened the door and said, "Can I help you."

Remy flashed him her most winning smile. "I think you're exactly who I'm looking for."

* * *

A/N: I am actually quite proud of this chapter. I managed to fit at least _some_ characters from all the different factions in, and it's not ridiculously long, and I also managed to move my ships forward. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.


	11. And Gross Darkness

A/N: So...longer update. And while this is a Pemma/Syelle/Clach fic, this isn't a very shippy chapter, with the exception of one extremely fluffy (and I think mildly hilarious) Syelle scene. Enjoy!

* * *

Parkman House, Los Angeles

"I'm sorry. I don't think I know you," Mohinder told the pretty woman in front of him.

"Oh, you don't," she assured him sweetly. "My name is Leslie Hardesty. I am pre-med over at UCLA, and I checked out your father's book a few weeks ago, and—given recent revelations on the news—I just couldn't put it down. I have so many questions. Oh, my God! You are Mohinder Suresh, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," he replied, laughing slightly. "How, exactly, did you know where to find me?"

"Mohinder," Matt called, motioning him over to the living room. "Could you come here a second?"

"What are you doing? If Janice were here, she'd kill you for being on your feet."

Matt grabbed Mohinder with the hand that wasn't supporting him against the top of the couch and pulled him close enough to whisper, "She's lying. She keeps saying her name in her head over and over like a mantra. I can hear it from over here without even trying. Why would she need to remember her own name like that?"

"Is that your power?" the woman asked, slipping in through the door Mohinder left ajar. "Do you read minds?"

"Who are you?" Matt asked her directly.

"Remy Griffith, _New York Times_," she answered, smiling. "You're a hard man to find, Dr. Suresh."

"Ever think that might be on purpose?" Mohinder replied, folding his arms across his chest defensively.

"Actually, after I talked to your landlord in Brooklyn, I was pretty certain it was on purpose," she answered. "He said you still owe him for a deadbolt, by the way."

Matt cocked an eyebrow at Mohinder. Mohinder ignored him and glared at the woman in the room.

"What do you want?"

"I'm following the Claire Bennet story for the _Times_. In my research, I found that your father totally called it."

"Your point?"

"You know something," Remy said, stepping closer to them. "Both of you do. It's my job to find out the truth."

"The truth?" Matt asked dubiously. "You came to the door lying to us."

"I lied because I figured you might have been warned," Remy explained. "I apparently made Peter Petrelli's girlfriend cry."

"Peter has a girlfriend?" Mohinder asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I didn't catch the whole story," Matt muttered in return.

"Oh, believe me, there's definitely something there," Remy interrupted. "But I'm not here to talk about the last Petrelli standing. I want to know how it all works, why it all works, and how the rest of us fit into it."

"To what 'it' are you referring?" Mohinder asked.

"Don't play dumb, Doctor. I don't appreciate it," Remy replied flatly. "I figure you guys aren't exactly the Justice League, so if you two could just give me a hint, it would be extremely helpful.

Mohinder regarded her thoughtfully while Matt chuckled in obvious amusement.

"You've got _nothing_," Matt concluded. "You haven't got anything you could take to an editor at the _Times_, and now you're just grasping at straws. I know exactly what you're thinking, but we're not going to tell you anything."

"What do you want to know?"

"Mohinder!"

Remy smiled triumphantly as Matt pulled his friend along as he hobbled to the far side of the room. "What is wrong with you?" he whispered.

"This woman wants to know about the science behind abilities. There's no reason she shouldn't know, and I should be the one to explain it," Mohinder argued. "I won't give her names, or details, but it will likely get her off our backs, and keep the rest of the world from making up insane theories."

"Look, I can just push a thought into her head and it'll be done."

"Matt, do really want to do that? Do you really want to keep manipulating people to keep our secret?"

Matt sighed and shook his head. "Fine. Just get her out of my house first."

Mohinder nodded and smiled slightly. "Thanks, Matt."

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York

"I hate these shifts," Hesam said as Peter walked into the ambulance bay.

"You mean the ones we work?" Peter teased.

"Very funny," Hesam replied, lifting the last oxygen canister into the back of the vehicle. "I mean shifts we work from the middle of the day to the middle of the night. They make me feel like a vampire."

Peter chuckled and shook his head as he climbed into the passenger's seat. Hesam waited until they were out in the daylight before he said, "Did you have a good day off?"

"Yeah, it was good," Peter answered shortly.

"Good, or _really_ good?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw you in the file room eating lunch with Emma when I came in," he explained. "_And_ I actually beat you to the ambulance bay which I assume means you were doing something other than discussing the deliciousness of the pastrami on rye from Dino's."

Peter instantly turned three shades of crimson, which only made Hesam laugh louder "Yeah, there was definitely a 'really' in that good day off," he concluded.

Peter had never been more grateful for a five-car pile-up when the call sounded on the radio.

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

"I love this show," Elle said, her eyes focused on the TV as she munched her sandwich.

"Why?" Gabriel asked, looking up from the fort of wooden blocks Mikey was building around him.

"It's just so happy, and hopeful, and positive," she explained. "It's completely unlike _real_ life. And that guy really looks like you."

"You think so?" he asked, looking up at the screen.

Mikey threw one of the blocks at him to re-attract his attention. It connected with Gabriel's head with a loud thwack.

"Michael," Elle said firmly, "you do not throw things at people."

The little boy's lower lip quivered as he looked at his mother.

"Apologize," Elle told him.

Mikey stretched out his arms and knocked down one of his walls as he walked through to hug one of Gabriel's knees. Elle rolled her eyes and said, "Well, that's not an 'I'm sorry,' but we can work with that."

"It's okay, buddy," Gabriel said, pulling Mikey onto his lap. "But you knocked down your wall."

Gabriel stretched out his hand and the blocks floated up from the floor and rearranged themselves into a perfect wall. Mikey clapped his hands excitedly, but Elle rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Ugh," she groaned. "You're going to spoil him. I can tell."

"Somebody should. You're mean."

"I'm _firm_," she corrected. "There's a difference. You still love me, though, don't you, baby?"

Mikey scrunched up his face and wrapped his arms around Gabriel's neck. Gabriel laughed as he hugged his son tighter.

"Traitor," Elle muttered, looking back at the television screen. "Okay, now _that_ guy looks freakishly like Kaito Nakamura."

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"I hate you right now," Zach whispered to Micah.

Micah just shook his head.

"Zach, I know you're just nineteen, but how could you have been so irresponsible?" Tracy asked, tapping her fingers against the countertop.

"He _lied_ to me," Zach defended. "He told me his grandmother and Monica were okay with him coming with me."

"Actually, I didn't tell you one way or another," Micah corrected him.

"Micah, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking I wanted to know what was going on, and that I wanted to do something about it if I could."

"Micah, you can't even drive. What makes you think you can just go off and just leave your family with a text message?"

Micah glared at her. "You don't have a right to say anything to me! You're not my mother!"

Zach stared awkwardly at his shoes as Micah stomped out of the house. Tracy sighed deeply and shook her head.

"I hope you have armor, kid," she told him. "His family is coming here for Christmas."

Zach groaned and sat back as she stalked out of the room. A young man known as Ricky sat down across from him in the seat Tracy previously occupied.

"You're a little weird, aren't you?" Ricky asked him.

"Define weird," Zach laughed.

"You're not like us, but none of us seem to be freaking you out," Ricky explained. "That's weird."

Zach chuckled and said, "We're all weird whether we have special abilities, or not. I can't regenerate, or knock people down with sound waves, or talk to machines, but I was president of my high school's non-existent AV club. So, yeah, I'm plenty weird."

Ricky ran a hand through his hair and regarded the slightly older man curiously. "I wish more of them were like you. I wish more of them understood."

"Have a little faith," Zach advised. "There might be more of us out there than you think."

* * *

"You should just let him go."

Tracy looked over to find Claire sitting on the wide railing of the porch. She folded her arms over her chest defensively and replied, "You think you know him that well, huh?"

"I know what it's like to be pissed at your family, thinking the whole time that you're right and they have no idea what you're going through," Claire explained.

"So I guess you never grew out of that phase," Tracy retorted, glaring.

Claire hopped off the railing and laughed slightly as she walked over to the other woman. "I don't have to ask where you stand on the whole revealing ourselves issue," she said, rolling her eyes.

"You've been awfully lucky, Claire," Tracy informed her. "Not everyone is going to accept us the way your friend in there accepts you."

"That's not true."

"Yes, Claire, it is," Tracy argued. "I've seen a town lynch a boy like us because he couldn't control his power. You should have stayed in school. You might have learned some history."

Claire groaned as she watched Tracy walk off in Micah's general direction. She felt a nudge against her arm and smiled slightly when she saw Zach standing behind her.

"I think there are more people out there like me, too."

She chuckled lightly and said, "Eavesdropping is rude, Zach."

"Well, it's all your fault," he told her. "I honed my spy skills hanging out with you."

* * *

"Micah," Tracy said gently as she approached him.

He sighed deeply, but didn't look over at her as she sat down next to him at the base of an old oak tree.

"Come on, Micah. You're a good kid. Why did you run away?"

"It's all so stupid," he muttered.

"What is?"

"The way we live our lives," Micah answered, finally facing her. "We all go our separate ways thinking nothing we do is going to effect what's going on with everyone else. Maybe that's one thing those carnival people had right."

"Micah, you didn't see the carnival. It wasn't—"

"I know that Samuel guy was no good. I get that," Micah assured her firmly, "but do you really think he would have gotten as far as he did if the rest of us actually listened to one another?"

Tracy's brow furrowed in concentration. "Micah, what are you suggesting?" she asked. "Do you want us to build an underground bunker and go out at night fighting crime?"

"No," Micah laughed. "But it's almost Christmas."

"And?"

"And, not everybody believes in the birth of Christ, but everybody believes in food and presents," he explained, standing to his feet excitedly. "It's a really big house."

Tracy looked from Micah to the house and back again. "You want everybody to come here for Christmas? It's a week away. That's awfully short notice."

"Just invite them," Micah asked. "We should all at least _try_ to come together for something other than the end of the world."

Tracy laughed as she stood to her feet. "Okay, you win, Micah. I will try to get as many of us here as possible, but I make no guarantees."

"That's all I ask."

"And don't think this is going to get you out of trouble," she warned as they started back toward the house. "Nana and Monica are still probably going to skin you alive when they get here."

* * *

Lower Manhattan

"Well, this has been a long, boring shift."

"Would you have preferred a train crash?"

"No, but I am proud of you for not dying today," Hesam told his partner.

Peter smirked and shook his head. "I honestly don't know what would happen if I got shot again," he admitted.

Hesam's forehead crinkled in confusion. "You mean you don't know if you would heal again?"

"I didn't know I had that ability at all," Peter explained. "I've only been able to hold on to one ability at a time for over a year now. I saw Claire last week, but I didn't take her ability. I don't know what's going on, but I don't want things to go the way they did the first time my abilities started presenting."

"What happened the first time?"

"I was in a coma for two weeks, and then I exploded," Peter explained.

Hesam blinked and said, "Yeah, I hope that doesn't happen either."

The engine suddenly died and all of the lights in the cab blinked out.

"What the hell?" Hesam muttered, groping around in the dark.

The air slowly escaped from Peter's lungs as he looked out the window. All the lights on the street and in the buildings had gone out. He looked up and found that the moon and stars had disappeared.

"Of course the car dies in the middle of a blackout," Hesam muttered. "Dammit! I can't even get the light on my watch to come on."

Peter summoned the electricity in his body to his fingertips and touched the dash he could no longer see. A blue spark jumped from his hand and the car rumbled to life. Moments later, the streetlights reignited and the moon and stars reappeared. People on the sidewalks jumped and stumbled at the sudden change.

"What. The. Hell. Peter, did you do that?"

"I just started the car," Peter answered. "Let's just get out of here."

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment, Midtown Manhattan

She woke up without the aid of her alarm. That almost never happened. Emma was not a morning person, but it was Friday and she would see Peter at work. She felt a little silly for being so happy because of a man, but Peter wasn't just any man. He was special, and he cared about her more than anyone cared about her in a very long time.

She was not, however, looking forward to talking to her mother. Emma knew she had to tell her mother about Peter before she found out from another person in the hospital. It was just a hazard of working in the same place with your family members. She hadn't decided whether or not she was going to tell her mother the whole truth, though. That could quickly become complicated, and Emma had had enough complications in her life lately.

She walked into her kitchen surprised to find the kettle on her lit stove and a steaming cup of tea on the table. She looked around her apartment and didn't see anyone else, though her cat seemed to be curling around absolutely nothing. She jumped as the teacup floated off the surface of the table. A tall, scruffy man appeared out of the air and smiled as he sipped the tea he'd apparently made.

He said something Emma couldn't quite understand, and she said, "I'm sorry. Your mouth moves differently."

He laughed slightly and set the cup back down. "Sorry, love. Forgot you couldn't hear. It's the accent," he said, signing simultaneously. "An unfortunate side-effect of bein' born in Blackpool.

"What are you doing in my apartment?" she asked angrily.

"I need you to take a message to Peter Petrelli," he replied. "Trouble is coming your way."

* * *

A/N: If you can't figure out who's talking to Emma, I shall give you a hint: Blackpool is in Lancashire, which is in the north of England. Also...Nine. That's all the hints you get. Thanks for reading!


	12. An Invitation to Connect

A/N: So this update is pretty long and I'm a little iffy about it in some spots, but I do think it does a lot for plot and character development with its length. Italics in this chapter are lines that are strictly signed with no speaking. BTW, there is product placement in this chapter, but Nissan is kind of part of the show's cannon at this point, and I really want a Nissan Cube for myself (sigh) Enjoy.

* * *

Parkman House, Los Angeles

Matty played on the floor, blissfully unaware of the tension stemming from the other four people in the room. Matt and Janice were sitting on the couch and Matt's leg was propped up on the coffee table. Mohinder and Molly were facing each other from opposite sides of the room. He was staring at the shiny tips of his shoes. She was glaring at him.

"I can't believe you did this," Molly muttered, folding her arms across her chest and slumping into her chair.

"You didn't tell us a reporter was the reason Claire left New York," Mohinder argued.

"You're not stupid! You should have been able to figure it out when she showed up at the door," Molly yelled.

"Hey," Matt interrupted sternly. "We may not be perfect, and we may have screwed up, but that doesn't give you the right to talk to us like that. Understand?"

"Sorry," Molly mumbled.

"Look, I barely told her anything more than was in my father's book," Mohinder defended. "The most important thing I said was that abilities are often more subtle than what popular culture would have us believe."

"Meaning you told her what, exactly?" Janice asked.

"It's not all flight or invisibility," Mohinder began. "Abilities like psychometrics—the ability to see the history of an object—are extremely subtle and hardly noticeable to the outside world, much less are they a threat to it."

"And you didn't give any names?"

"Of course not, Matt," Mohinder assured him. "I didn't tell her about myself, or any of you either. I didn't trust the woman _that_ much."

"Well, that's something," Molly muttered glumly.

"Molly—"

"No, stop," Janice interrupted. "What's done is done. There's nothing any of us can do about it now. I'm calling in a pizza. What you like?"

Just as she picked up the phone, it started ringing. Slightly startled, she answered it and then handed the phone to her husband.

"It's for you," she told him. "Someone named Tracy Strauss."

Mohinder's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why would Tracy be calling you?"

Matt shrugged. "I have no idea. Hello?"

"Matt Parkman? Hi, it's Tracy Strauss. We met briefly last year, although under less than ideal circumstances."

"You've got a real talent for understatement there," Matt retorted. "What do you want?"

"Well, I was wondering what your plans were for Christmas."

"What?"

"Or Hanukah, or Kwanza, or Ramadan or whatever holiday you're celebrating at this festive time of year," Tracy continued.

"Uh…why are you asking?" Matt said, waving off the questioning looks from other people in the room.

"Well, on Christmas Eve, I'm planning a dinner. You can come a couple of days early and stay overnight. It doesn't really matter, just let me know ahead of time," she explained.

Matt blinked away his shock and said, "Uh, where, exactly, is all this generosity coming from?"

"Well, as someone recently pointed out to me, we all wind up having to help one another out when something horrible is happening," she answered. "We just thought we should all spend some time together under happier circumstances."

"Wow," Matt replied, finding it hard to argue with her reasoning. "I'll, uh, I'll have to talk to my wife, and we have some other people with us right now."

"Anyone I know?"

"Well, Dr. Suresh," Matt answered. "I don't think you know Molly."

"Molly Walker?" Tracy asked. "I definitely know who that is."

"Okay," Matt said, allowing an amused laugh. "I'll have to get back to you on this."

"That's fine. Just let me know as soon as possible."

"Sure," Matt replied before turning off the phone. He looked over at his wife and said, "Jan, what are our plans for Christmas?"

* * *

Angela Petrelli's Apartment, Upper East Side

Peter lightly knocked on the door and waited for his mother to answer. She greeted him with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"Come in, Peter," she said. "I wasn't sure I would see you anytime soon. Would you like anything to eat or drink?"

"I just want to know what it means," Peter replied, his hands still stuffed in the pockets of his coat.

She sighed and smiled her typical, insincere smile. "You get that directness from your brother."

Peter shook his head. "Mom, just answer me, please."

"The dreams don't always come with their own interpreters, Peter," Angela told him flatly, turning away and walking toward her living room.

"I shouldn't even be having the dreams, Mom," he replied, stalking after her. "Something's happening to me."

"I know," she said, stroking his face comfortingly. "But you'll be fine. I've seen it."

"And the darkness?"

"I don't know," Angela admitted tightly. "But Nathan had faith in you, Peter. So do I."

He shook his head in disappointment. "I have to go to work."

"Peter, what are your plans for Christmas?" Angela called after him.

"What?" he asked, turning around with his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Tracy Strauss called me earlier today to invite me to a Christmas Eve event at her house in Georgia," Angela explained. "I expect she'll be calling you sometime today. Do you think you'll attend?"

"I…don't know," Peter answered honestly.

"Think about it," she advised.

"I will."

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York

"So, that guy who was in here the other day; that was Senator Petrelli's brother, right?" Ariel asked, pushing her blonde hair back over her shoulder.

Emma nodded politely.

"He could do _sooo_ much better."

Emma felt angry tears stinging her eyes. "I can read your lips," she reminded the other woman heatedly before stomping out of the office.

She turned down two or three hallways before she found and empty chair and collapsed into it. She buried her face in her hands and rubbed her aching head.

For five blissful minutes she thought it would be a good day, then an invisible man appeared in her kitchen and it all went to hell from there. She was late and she spent ten minutes looking for Peter before she realized he wouldn't be there until the afternoon, making her even later. Ariel looked down on her imperiously for her tardiness, and then a doctor needed a forty-year-old file Emma had no hope of ever locating.

She jumped slightly when she felt a hand on her back, but relaxed immediately when she looked up and saw her mother.

_Hi, Mom._

_ Bad day?_

Emma simply nodded.

"This might cheer you up," the elder Dr. Coolidge said, handing her daughter an envelope.

Emma cocked an eyebrow when she saw it was from the Mercy Heights College of Medicine. Her eyes widened when the letter inside told her her application to restart her residency had been accepted, and she could start at the end of January.

"Why didn't you tell me you applied to restart your residency?" Irene asked, signing simultaneously.

"I…" Emma began, but she couldn't quite get past her own confusion.

"I was really worried about you, Emma. You should have told me."

"I-I got another letter," Emma finally sputtered. _It said I didn't get in_.

"It must have been a mistake," Irene assured her daughter. "Chief Kauffman gave that to me himself."

Emma groaned inwardly. That first letter was just another one of Samuel's ploys. He'd manipulated her in every possible way so she could help him kill thousands of people. It still stung that she'd allowed herself to be used in such a way.

"Emma, aren't you happy about this?"

_I'm happy_, she assured her mother. _Just surprised_.

"I'm very proud of you."

_Thanks_, Emma replied, attempting a smile. _There's actually something else I wanted to tell you._

"What?"

_I…met someone_.

Irene's mouth curled into a small smile. "You mean romantically?"

Emma nodded and smiled genuinely.

"How did you meet him?"

_In the file room_, Emma answered, smiling slyly. _He's a paramedic_.

Her mother scoffed and shook her head. "Well, who is he?"

_Peter Petrelli_.

Irene's curious smile quickly faded. "Emma, I don't think you should see him."

_What?_ Emma asked, surprised by her mother's reaction.

"He's unstable."

_What are you talking about?_

"His whole family has a history of mental issues," Irene told her. "There's speculation the senator's plane crash wasn't entirely an accident. It could have been murder or possibly suicide. And Peter was in the hospital himself three years ago after a suicide attempt and not long after that he disappeared for months while his _brother_ was in the hospital after an accident."

Emma shook her head defiantly.

Irene placed a firm hand on either one of her daughter's shoulders and said, "Emma, that whole family has strange and dangerous connections. I just don't want you to get hurt."

"Stop it," Emma said aloud, standing up and brushing off her mother's hands. "You don't know him!"

Emma didn't cry very often. She'd very quickly outgrown crying at the difficulties of life when she realized she had to adapt to a world that would never adapt to her. She found herself shedding tear-after-tear, however, after what her mother said. It wasn't just her mother's opinion. It was the entire damn day and everything and everyone in it. She smoothed her letter out in front of her on the piano, and started pressing the keys.

* * *

Peter realized why he felt so drawn to the second-floor lounge when he heard the music. He observed Emma briefly through the glass walls. Her shoulders were slumped and tears streamed silently down her cheeks. He set his messenger bag down on the floor and slid onto the piano bench. He gently brushed some of her blonde hair away from her face. She wordlessly pulled him closer and wrapped her arms around him.

When she loosened her hold on him, he leaned back enough to look at her face and said, "Hey, what's wrong?"

"My mother," Emma answered. "She was…she doesn't know what she's talking about, and…"

"It's okay," he told her. "My mother isn't the most helpful person either."

She smiled slightly as he gently kissed the side of her face. She seemed to relax at his touch and he smiled at the fact that he could cheer her up. Then her face turned solemn and Peter felt his body tensing.

"Peter, there was a man in my apartment this morning," she told him.

"What?" he gasped. "Why? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she promised. "He wasn't trying to hurt me or anything. He said he knew you."

"Me?"

"Yes, and he could be invisible. He said his name was—"

"Claude," Peter finished. "His name was Claude, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"What the hell did _he_ want?"

"He wanted me to warn you because of something that happened last night," Emma explained. "He said there was a blackout?"

Peter nodded. "And it wasn't just the lights on the streets and the buildings. The car died, and the stars and the moon disappeared."

Emma's face briefly betrayed her fear before she said, "He said there were people planning something. He didn't know how many, or who they were, but he said you would have to be ready."

Peter shook his head. "What an asshole," he muttered. "I have to talk to him."

"You can find him?" Emma asked.

"Maybe," Peter answered, shrugging and standing up. "Congratulations, by the way."

"What?" Emma asked, confused.

"You're restarting your residency," he said, motioning to the letter on the piano. "Congratulations."

She smiled shyly and said, "Thank you."

Peter slung his messenger bag over his shoulder and kissed her quickly on the lips. "I'll see you when I get back."

Emma took the letter in her hand and walked back toward the filing room with a new resolve.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"This is _Georgia_. We're famous for our pine trees," Ricky pointed out to the other three young residents of Tracy's house as they all sat sprawled across the porch steps.

"But I thought fir trees were better," Claire argued, looking at Zach for support.

"Don't ask me," he replied, holding up his hands. "My mom decided we should have a Hanukah bush one year and she actually got a bush and put blue lights on it."

"I didn't know you were Jewish."

"Oh, we're not," Zach replied, shaking his head.

"Couldn't we just go to a tree farm?" Micah suggested.

"Where's the fun in that?" Ricky asked.

"Well, there's less of a chance of someone losing an arm if you go to a tree farm," Claire agreed.

"Why would anyone be losing an arm?" Tracy asked, stepping out onto the porch with a laptop balanced in the crook of one arm.

"No one's losing an arm, Aunt Tracy," Ricky assured her. "We're just talking about the best way to get a tree now that we're actually going to have a Christmas."

"Speaking of which," she began, "the guest list is growing steadily. Hiro said yes almost before I got the question out. His sister and Ando are coming too. Micah's family is coming, of course, and guess who's coming with the Parkmans?"

"Molly," Micah answered without looking up from his computer screen. "She texted."

"Well, that completely ruins my surprise," Tracy muttered. "I got an 'I'll think about it' from Angela Petrelli, which surprised me greatly, and I haven't been able to get a hold of Peter. I guess he's working."

"You're really enjoying this," Claire stated.

"This is what I did when I first started out in Washington," Tracy explained. "I planned parties and dinners before I moved up to more…significant functions." Her forehead crinkled in confusion when she saw a little black car coming up the dirt drive to the house. "Are we expecting anyone?"

Micah looked up and grinned. "She made it!"

Claire squinted as the car drew nearer. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw it was a Nissan Cube. "I know that car. That's—"

"Happy early Christmas," Zach told her.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the house, and its tall, dark-haired driver got out and opened one of the back doors.

"It's okay," Gretchen told the small occupants of the backseat. "You guys can get out now."

She led two children—about seven or eight years old—around the car toward the house. They were tired and dirty and appeared to only have a single backpack in their possession. They both had similar cherubic faces, and might have been mistaken for identical twins if the girl's blonde hair hadn't reached her waist. Upon seeing the state of the two children, Tracy set her laptop down on wicker chair on the porch, and the four younger people stood to their feet.

"This is Tessa and Lee," Gretchen introduced for the shy twins. "They're from South Carolina. They heard rumors about this place, and since Micah sent me GPS coordinates, I gave them a ride."

"Gretchen is my roommate," Claire said proudly, preempting Tracy's next question.

"Oh, well, thank you very much," Tracy replied, navigating down the steps. "Why don't you guys come inside? We'll get you cleaned up, and something to eat."

The twins smiled gratefully as the each took one of Tracy's hands, but they remained silent as Ricky followed all of them inside.

Claire walked down the steps and awkwardly said, "Hey."

"Hey," Gretchen replied, pulling Claire into a hug.

Claire smiled as she returned the other's embrace. "I wasn't sure you wanted to speak to me again."

"I'm considering it with your hair being that color," Gretchen teased.

"Jeez, I'd almost forgotten about it," Claire replied, touching her hair self-consciously.

"How could you forget about something like that?"

"You get used to it," Claire argued.

Gretchen shook her head and followed Claire back toward the steps. She looked at Zach and said, "Thanks for reminding her about my car. I thought it might have been lost forever."

"Yeah, well, I almost forgot."

"You had an excellent excuse," Claire argued for him.

"Yeah, what's with the stitches?" Gretchen asked.

"Zach's car got totaled about an hour after we got to Manhattan," Micah answered.

"Oh my God! Was everyone okay? What happened to that Elle girl and her baby?"

"Mikey was fine," Micah assured her. "Elle got the worst of it, but she'll be okay."

Claire shifted uncomfortably at the mention of Elle and her child. Zach regarded her curiously, but said nothing.

"So," Claire said, beginning to change the subject, "why did you decide to come down here?"

"Well, I was going back to Austin for the holidays anyway, and your dad apparently talked to the Dean, and he's excusing your absences as long as you come back after the break and take your finals," Gretchen explained. "So, I volunteered to bring you your books and stuff after Micah sent me a message telling me where you were."

"I figured she'd want to know," Micah answered at Claire's questioning glance.

"Thanks," Claire told him.

Zach looked between the two girls and tapped Micah's leg with his foot. "Come on. Let's go see if Tracy needs some help."

When the boys were gone, Claire said, "I really thought you'd be mad at me. Everyone else seems to be."

"Oh, believe me, Claire, I'm mad at you," Gretchen promised. "All semester you went on about wanting a normal life, and then you totally destroyed your chance for it. And _my_ life without you the last week or so hasn't exactly been heavenly either. I know you liked the idea of living out in the open like those people did at the carnival, but they were also completely nuts!"

"I know that, Gretchen. That's why I did what I did. Samuel was going to kill thousands of people to reveal his power. I didn't hurt anyone with what I did," Claire argued for what felt like the millionth time. "Besides, I think that's what my dad would have wanted."

"Your dad?" Gretchen asked incredulously.

"My bio-dad," Claire corrected. "He tried to tell the truth once before, but it…didn't work out. His brother doesn't see it, but I think it's what he would have wanted."

"If you say so," Gretchen conceded. "Do you think you'll come back to school next semester?"

"I don't know," Claire admitted. "I guess I'll wait to see how finals go before I make a decision."

"Well, I hope you decide to come back," Gretchen told you. "Life would get a little _too_ boring without you."

Claire laughed and asked, "How long are you staying?"

"Only until tomorrow afternoon," she replied. "My family wants me home for Christmas."

"I understand," Claire said, nodding. "I'm glad you came."

"So am I."

* * *

Deveaux Building, Upper East Side

Peter's love-hate relationship with rooftops began atop the Deveaux building. He'd flown and fallen from that roof. He'd fallen in love and had his heart broken in the same place. It was where he learned to control his powers, but those memories alone were more painful than pleasant.

The pigeons were back.

"Hey up, Peter."

Peter turned to find the scruffy man standing where no one had been moments earlier. He hadn't changed much. If anything, he looked slightly cleaner than the last time Peter had seen him. His clothes were less worn and his beard was slightly shorter. There was still a malignant darkness beneath the mischievous spark in his blue eyes.

"You look different," Claude commented. "Your eyes aren't as wide. You look like someone's held you down and told you horrible things about the world."

"I saw them for myself," Peter replied gruffly, taking a step toward the other man.

"That you have," Claude agreed. "I been watchin' you when I could. Losin' your powers that way was a rotten deal."

"Do you have a point?" Peter asked in annoyance.

"I didn't tell your little girlfriend about the trouble tha's comin' because I thought you needed a warning," Claude explained. "I know you don't need a warning. And that's what worries me."

"You didn't seem to care too much the first time," Peter replied angrily.

"Well, I'm in the habit of not caring, but _you_? You not caring is a serious problem."

Peter laughed mirthlessly. "I'm a paramedic," he said, motioning to the uniform he still wore. "I care."

"Not about your people. Not like you did," Claude told him. "Granted, after everything most of 'em 'ave done to you and the rest of the world, they don't deserve your concern, but then again, they never deserved it. You were an empath in every sense of the word. You lost that when you cut yourself off from them."

"When I started acting like you, you mean?" Peter responded sarcastically.

"This isn't about me!" Claude nearly shouted as he towered over the shorter man. "That Samuel, he became more powerful the more specials he 'ad around 'im. Not all terrakines work that way and not all empaths work like you. You actually got it right three years ago when you said you didn't _have_ to cut them out of your life, but that's exactly what you've gone and done. You need to be connected to work right, and you're disconnected from everyone."

"That's not true," Peter said through gritted teeth as he stepped back from the other man.

"Aye," Claude agreed, his eyebrows arched upward in amusement. "It's probably the only instance in the history of man where a woman was _actually_ helpful."

Peter pursed his lips as he breathed heavily through his nose and glared at the other man. Claude just laughed.

"You've got the girl. Now you just need to connect with everyone else."

It was Peter's turn to laugh. "You are such a fucking hypocrite."

Claude shrugged. "Well, nobody's perfect," he excused. "I wasn't jokin' this morning when I told your girl there was hell comin' our way. I haven't got it all figured out yet, but I will, and right now, you're pretty much worthless with your spotty abilities. So deal with it."

"That reminds me," Peter said before belting Claude across the jaw with his right hand. He gritted his teeth and shook out the pain in his cracked knuckles.

Claude chuckled as he wiped the blood from his lower lip. "I'm guessin' that was my payback for breaking into your girl's apartment."

Peter nodded. "Don't do it again," he warned before turning his back on his former mentor.

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital

Peter walked around Manhattan for two hours thinking about his encounter with Claude. The man had gotten under Peter's skin many years earlier and never really made his way out. Claude's teachings the first time around were the main reasons behind Peter's withdrawal from the world. It irritated him greatly that Claude was now reneging on that claim, but at the same time Peter was glad that a previous, hopeful version of himself had been right all along.

He looked down at his right hand. It didn't hurt, and his knuckles weren't even bruised. He'd been in enough fistfights in his life to know that that shouldn't be the case under normal circumstances. He checked to make sure no one was looking and produced an orb of blue electricity in one hand. That made two. He extinguished the electricity in time to watch an orderly drop an armful of empty trays. Brilliant green and pink flashes of light emanated from the clatter. That made three. He helped the orderly clean up the mess, and then walked over to the vending machines. He touched on and a bottle of water dropped into the dispenser. Peter immediately felt guilty and put a dollar in the machine for the next person to use. That made four. If he had a horrifying dream about darkness covering the earth later that night, that would make five.

The first time, he'd already slipped into a coma after gathering five powers. He felt fine other than a minor sense of impending doom. His body was coping better after three years.

He checked his phone. Tracy called five times. She was nothing if not determined. Peter thought once again about what Claude said about connecting. It was nearly Christmas; a holiday he loved as a child and hadn't properly celebrated in years. Perhaps it was time to start celebrating again, while he still had the time to celebrate at all.

He watched Emma through the glass wall of her office. He quirked an eyebrow when he realized she was packing small objects into a cardboard box. She looked up when he came in and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm quitting," she replied, smiling and putting a lid on the box.

"Today?" he asked, surprised.

"I need all the time I can to study before I restart my residency. It's been six years," Emma excused. "And Ariel thinks she knows everything, so she should be fine."

Peter suspected the other woman in the file room had more to do with Emma's early departure than she was letting on, but he decided to let it go. He bit his lip and fidgeted uncomfortably in front of her desk. Her brow furrowed in concern and she asked, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing, really," he stammered. "I was just wondering… What are you doing for Christmas?"

* * *

Next time:

Elle and Gabriel have a fight and wind up calling Peter for help,

Hesam corners Peter into telling him the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,

A Christmas shopping trip in Georgia becomes awkward when mistletoe gets involved, and

Emma helps Tracy unravel a mystery surrounding her two newest charges...


	13. Offerings

A/N: Sorry this took so long. I took a break to watch the complete Doctor Who specials...I am now mourning for David Tennant even though he's not actually dead. Back to the matter at hand: I feel it is now the appropriate time to say this: I am not ill-informed. I know the intention was for Zach's character to be gay, but b/c Thomas Dekker's manager nixed that idea, it never entered the show's cannon. And I was a Clach shipper from the first time I saw the pilot when it aired back in 2006 b/c it was adorable when he offered her a ride on his handlebars (I'm a sucker for chivalry, what can I say?). And just a warning: this chapter is heavy on the Clach with some hints of Gretchen/Claire (do we have a ship name for them yet?) Please allow me my wish fulfillment in the forms of Syelle and Clach (which are so not happening on the show) If you want to read a realistic and more predictive version of Volume 6, check out "Seeing Stars" by silverhelix428. Even if you don't want to read a realistic and more predictive version of Volume 6, check it out b/c it's awesome. Also, I'm not sure Hesam would just let loose with a ST:TNG reference, but if you've ever watched TNG you should get the joke, and if you don't, PM me and I'll explain. Enjoy!

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

"Peter, hey, wait up!"

Peter shoved his paycheck into his back pocket and turned to face his partner. "You need something, Hesam?"

"Answers would be nice," Hesam answered curtly.

"Answers about what?" Peter asked innocently.

Hesam glared at him. "You want a list? You keep giving me bits and pieces, and, honestly, it just confuses me more. A blackout killed the car and my watch the other night, not to mention the stars disappearing. And then yesterday you got Jones to cover for you at the last minute. I hate to keep sounding like the bearded guy from _Star Trek_, but: what the hell?"

Peter sighed and said, "It's…a really long, complicated story."

"There's a table and chairs right there," Hesam said, motioning toward the corner of the rec room. "And I happen to know neither of us have to work until next week, and you're off for Christmas. So start talking."

Peter sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Well, I guess it all started about the time my dad died," Peter began.

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment, Midtown Manhattan

Emma lost her hold on the box from the top shelf of her closet when she felt her phone buzzing in her jeans pocket. A short burst of red and green light emanated from the resulting pile of medical texts. She bit her lip and hoped her neighbor from downstairs wouldn't come investigating as she looked at her phone. The message read: 'Hesam cornered me for answers. I'll try to be there by 1. Sorry. –Peter.'

Despite the inconvenience of not having someone to carry the rest of her books up from the basement, Emma smiled to herself. It had been a long time since anyone felt the need to inform her of their whereabouts on a regular basis. She hadn't realized how truly lonely she was until she had someone else besides her cat in her life.

She was on her knees picking up her books when she felt her phone buzzing again. She furrowed her brow, unsure of who it could be. This time, the message read: 'Hi, Emma. It's Micah. Hope you remember me. We need your help with something. Turn on your computer.'

Emma quirked an eyebrow at the message, but got up and turned on the laptop she kept on the desk in her bedroom. A flashing icon in the corner of the screen told her someone was trying to video chat with her. She clicked on the icon and the face of the younger boy that came in with Elle appeared on the screen.

"Hey, I know this is weird," Micah said, "but we have a problem, and you're the only person I could think of that could help."

"What problem?" Emma asked.

"I'll let Tracy explain," Micah answered before moving out of the screen.

A woman in her thirties took his place. She had bright blue eyes and hair blonder and Emma's. She smiled nervously and said, "Hi, I'm Tracy Strauss. I'm so sorry about this, but Micah said you were deaf."

"Yes," Emma replied uncertainly.

"Well, you see, these two kids showed up yesterday with a friend of Claire's," Tracy explained. "They just gave her a note identifying themselves, and telling her where they came from and where they wanted to go. They didn't say anything to her or anything once they got here. I thought they were just really scared until I noticed them signing to one another. None of us knows sign language, and I don't really know anyone who does, Micah remembered you, and…"

"I understand," Emma assured her. "Can I talk to one of them?"

"Definitely." Tracy turned to her left and held out an arm as she said, "It's okay, sweetie. Come on."

Emma watched as Tracy moved out of the chair and a small, blonde girl took her place. Emma gave her a friendly smile and signed, _Hi. My name is Emma. What's yours?_

_ Tessa._

_ Where are your parents?_

Emma watched intently for the next few minutes as Tessa tearfully recounted her and her brother's recent history. When the girl was finished, Emma said and signed, "Is Tracy still there?"

"Yeah, I'm right here," Tracy replied, leaning into the screen. "What's going on?"

"They're both deaf," Emma explained, "but Tessa read lips better than Lee. They're from Charleston, South Carolina. Their father is dead, but their mother's name was Larissa Morgan. She was taken."

"By whom?" Tracy asked.

"They don't know, but it was other people with abilities. One man could move things with his mind," Emma replied. "The last thing their mother did was send them to you."

Tracy nodded. "There's someone that owes me a serious favor," she said. "If anyone can find their mother it's him. I talked to Peter this morning. I guess I'll see you at Christmas."

"Yeah," Emma confirmed, nodding.

"Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome."

She saw the light flashing in the living room signaling the presence of someone at her front door. Her chest tightened at the sight on the other side.

"Stephen?" she asked as she opened the door.

"Hey, Em," he said, signing simultaneously. "It's been a long time."

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

Elle groaned as she sat up in her bed. She felt a brief moment of panic when she saw Mikey wasn't in his crib. Then she heard her son's giggling coming from the kitchen. She stumbled out of bed and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her right wrist and ankle were still wrapped to keep her from spraining them further. Her right thigh was still bandaged where they'd sewn up a gash in her leg. It was by far the most damage her body had ever taken even after spending her whole life with the Company.

She hobbled out of the dark room and looked out of the windows. Snow was piled up in high drifts outside and it still fell from the sky. They were going to be snowed in for a while, though Gabriel probably had some ability that could get himself outside.

She found Gabriel and Mikey in the kitchen. Mikey was on the countertop of the island and Gabriel stood in front of him. Gabriel was also apparently levitating berries around the boy's head. Mikey would grab at them and pop one in his mouth as soon as he caught one.

"What do you think you're doing?" Elle yelled at him.

"What?" Gabriel asked as the berries dropped to the floor.

"Mommy!" Mikey said joyfully, holding his arms out to her.

"He could choke," Elle insisted, hobbling forward.

"I'm watching him."

"You have no idea what you're doing," she replied, picking up her son and balancing him on her left side.

"I'm not an idiot," he argued. "What are you doing? You're gonna hurt yourself or Mikey."

"I'm his mother! _I_ know how to take care of him," Elle said, turning away as angry tears filled her eyes.

"Elle!" Gabriel yelled after her as Mikey started to wail.

Her right ankle gave way and she crumpled to the tile floor. Her body broke her son's fall, but he screamed even louder. Gabriel rushed to her side and gathered his little boy in his arms. Elle bit her lip as sobs wracked her body. Gabriel slid an arm beneath her body and lifted her up so she was crying on his shoulder.

"What is wrong with you, Elle?" Gabriel asked in a whisper, as he attempted to comfort his son.

"He's my baby," she moaned.

"Elle, I—"

"He's only supposed to laugh with me. He's _mine_," Elle said, finally looking up at him.

"Elle…he's my son," Gabriel replied, calmly as Mikey buried his face in his shirt.

"I know. I know, but…he _can_ choke on those berries," she said, shuddering.

Gabriel laughed slightly and said, "Elle, I'm not going to let anything happen to him, or to you. I promised you."

"But-but he likes you better than me," Elle sobbed.

"I'm just a shiny new toy," Gabriel assured her, kissing the top of her head. "I'm sure he'll find a reason to hate me eventually."

Elle chuckled mirthlessly as she twisted his shirt in her hand. "Uh, Gabriel, I think something's wrong."

Gabriel looked down and saw the blood pooling beneath her right thigh. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, picking Mikey up, and carrying him to his playpen in the living room.

He was quickly back at her side and ripped open the newly blood-soaked bandage. "Damnit, Elle, you broke your stitches."

"We can't get out. The snow is up to the window," she said, groaning.

"Daddy!"

"It'll be okay, Mike!" Gabriel yelled back in the boy's general direction before grabbing the phone.

"What are you doing?" Elle asked, running out of breath.

"Calling a paramedic."

* * *

Mercy Heights Hospital, New York City

"So…your mother was willing to sacrifice you to make a quote, 'better world,' your dad took your powers away and tried to kill you, and your brother tried to lock you up," Hesam said after Peter spent a little over an hour explaining the last couple of years of his life. "Dude, you should actually be more screwed up than you are."

Peter cocked an eyebrow and said, "Was that a compliment?"

"We'll call it a compliment," Hesam answered, leaning forward. "So, that weird blackout thing; that wasn't you, but it was someone like you."

Peter nodded. "It may have been several people. I don't know yet."

Hesam scoffed and said, "But you're gonna try and find out, right?"

"Yeah," Peter answered. "What's with the attitude?"

"You may be all-powerful, or whatever, but you're just one guy," Hesam told him.

"I told you there are others."

"Yeah, but how often do they really have your back, Pete? Can you really call them your friends?"

Peter sighed deeply. "They're there when it matters, and we're all working on that friends thing," he told his partner. "Look, I gotta go. I was supposed to meet Emma half an hour ago."

"I guess I'll see you next week," Hesam replied, slumping in his chair.

Peter was out on the street when his phone started ringing. His forehead furrowed in confusion when he saw the number of his family's house in Lake Placid.

"Hello?"

"Peter, thank God! We're sort of trapped in the cabin, and Elle fell down and the stitches in her leg broke and I don't know what to do."

Peter never thought he would hear panic in the voice of the former serial killer. "Gabriel, you need to calm down," Peter told him, resting against a light post on a busy New York sidewalk.

"There's lot of blood."

"That's nothing you haven't seen before," Peter muttered. "There's a first-aid kit in the cabinet above the sink. Go get it and put Elle on the phone."

"Hello," Elle said shakily.

"Hey, Elle," Peter replied in a friendly manner as though nothing was wrong. "You doing okay?"

"Well, I'm bleeding, but other than that I'm good."

"No nausea, no sudden fatigue?"

"No. It hurts like a bitch, though."

Peter chuckled slightly and said, "That means you just broke the skin and you're not going to bleed to death. Give Gabriel the phone."

He listened as they shuffled the phone, and Gabriel said, "Okay, Peter, I've got the first-aid kit."

"There should be a spool of surgical thread in there."

"Peter-no-I'm-I'm not a nurse," Gabriel immediately protested. "I can't do this."

"I can't get there, and you can't get out," Peter told him firmly. "You see how things work, Gabriel. You can do this."

"That's not how it works, Peter. It's not exactly a helpful ability."

"There are good and bad things about every ability," Peter argued. "Clean the wound and sew it back up."

"I—"

"Gabriel, you can do this," Peter reiterated. "Give Elle the phone."

"Peter, wh-what's going on?"

"Elle, I need you to lay back and keep your leg flat on the ground."

"But—"

"Elle," Peter cut her off firmly, "do you trust Gabriel?"

"I haven't decided yet," Elle replied before taking in a sharp breath. "Jesus Christ! That stings!"

"It's supposed to. It means you won't die of a horrible infection," Peter told her. "And, Elle, if you don't trust Gabriel, you can trust me. I'm trustworthy, right?"

She took in a sharp breath and said, "Unless you're trying to escape, sure you're trustworthy."

Peter chuckled and smiled as she winced in pain. "Elle, Elle, I need you to keep talking to me, okay? Tell me what you were doing when you fell down."

"I was-I was trying to get Mikey away from Gabriel," she answered. "God, I'm so stupid. I could have hurt my boy. I'm a bad mother."

"You're not a bad mother, Elle," Peter assured her. "You've been by yourself and you kept Mikey healthy and alive. Why were you trying to get him away from Gabriel?"

Elle screamed slightly and said, "I was jealous. They were playing and Mikey was mine, and he likes Gabriel more. I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid, Elle. You're just human," Peter replied.

"You really think we're still human?" she asked tears evident in her voice.

"We're human as long as we choose to be."

She laughed mirthlessly. "Sometimes you're still just a naïve puppy dog."

Peter stared into the busy, Manhattan space. Claude and Elle both had a propensity for comparing him to canines, and if he was honest with himself, it wasn't an unfair comparison. He was eager and earnest when it all began, and he wasn't sure it wasn't the better way to be.

"I'm done," he heard Gabriel say.

"Alright, he needs to wrap your leg in gauze, and you need to find somewhere to lay down and stay there."

"Aye, aye, Captain Kirk," she replied sarcastically.

"Goodbye, guys," Peter told them before turning off the phone. It was nearly an hour after the time he rescheduled to meet Emma, but she hadn't messaged him at all. He decided it wasn't call for crisis and hailed a cab.

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

"You were jealous?" Gabriel asked as he taped the gauze around her thigh.

"Yes," she answered tightly.

"He's mine too," Gabriel reminded her gently.

"Well, obviously," she answered in a snarky tone. "He's practically your clone."

Gabriel chuckled slightly as he lifted her from the floor. Mikey cooed happily when Elle was nearer him on the couch. She brushed the hair from his forehead and wiped the remaining tears from his face while he climbed up next to her.

"He called you 'Daddy'," she mused quietly.

"He still calls you 'Mommy'," he reminded her.

Elle smiled slightly and then scrunched her face up in mild disgust. "God, if we're not careful, we're gonna get boring."

"Not likely," Gabriel replied, shaking his head.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"Her name was Larissa Morgan and she lived in Charleston," Tracy said into her phone. "The kids didn't know what her ability was if she had one, but we can assume she did. At least one telekinetic took her, and she was expecting them."

Claire silently walked into the kitchen and grabbed an apple from the bowl. She listened intently as Tracy said, "Yeah, if you find her, we'll call it even. Yeah, I'll see you on Christmas."

Tracy jumped when she turned and saw Claire looking at her. "Oh! That was your dad. He's going to help us find the twins' mother."

"And he's coming to Christmas?"

"Yeah," Tracy answered uncertainly. "I invited him. I didn't think to ask if it would be okay with you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. It's just…it'll be our first Christmas since the divorce, and—"

"Actually, your mom and brother are coming too," Tracy interrupted.

"Wow," Claire replied, blinking in surprise. "You're really turning this into a family affair."

Tracy laughed slightly and said, "This is the only family I'm ever going to have the chance to have, so I figured I should make the most of it."

"If you're going to do that, we should maybe try to make this place a little Christmas-ier," Claire advised.

"Which reminds me," Tracy began, opening a kitchen drawer and pulling out an envelope of cash, "you and the older kids should go into town for food, favors, a tree, decorations, and the twins actually need a whole new wardrobe."

"You're sending _me_?" Claire asked incredulously.

"Wear a hat, and I won't tell your dad if you don't," Tracy answered.

Claire chuckled as she looked at the envelope Tracy gave her. Her eyes widened when she saw the numbers on the bills. "This…is a lot of money. How are you affording all of this?"

"I've always had money," Tracy admitted, "and I've had some generous donations from people like your grandmother."

Claire groaned. "Is _she_ coming to your Christmas party?"

"Actually, she said no, but I _did_ invite her," Tracy replied, still examining her Blackberry. "Peter's coming, though, and he's bringing this woman, Emma. She helped us figure out what was going on with the twins earlier."

Claire blinked and shook her head. "I'm sorry. Peter's bringing someone to your Christmas party?" she asked in near shock.

"Yeah."

"God…I guess this Christmas thing is a great idea. I know absolutely nothing about my family," Claire said, too closely examining the apple in her hands.

"Okay, you need to get out of here before I find any more reasons for you to mope."

* * *

"You look like a short, redheaded Ashton Kutcher."

"Thank you so very much."

"Seriously, why are you wearing a trucker hat?" Zach asked.

"Yeah, are you getting in touch with your Texas roots?" Gretchen added.

"I looked all over the house, this was all I could find," Claire explained. "It seems to be working, though. No one's recognized me."

"Kudos on your brilliance then," Gretchen told her.

They were in a mom-and-pop food market near Wright Square in downtown Savannah. Ricky and Micah got distracted at the toy store a few doors away leaving the coeds to themselves.

"So, what do we need in this store?" Zach asked.

"Party food."

"Judging from the way that Strauss woman dresses, I'm guessing that doesn't mean chips and dip," Gretchen said.

"Yeah, her list is more shrimp cocktail and cheeses I can't pronounce," Claire replied.

"Looks like there's a deli thing over there," Zach said.

They moved toward the glass and steel display at the back of the store. Gretchen, armed with a list Claire gave her, moved to one side to get the seafood while Claire and Zach moved toward the meat.

"We need ham and turkey and some roast beef."

"Don't forget the kitchen sink," Zach teased.

"Shut up," Claire said, punching him playfully. She started muttering names and counting them off on her fingers. "We're gonna need food for at least twenty people."

Zach motioned the woman behind the counter over and said, "We need enough food to feed a small army."

"Really?"

"He's not kidding," Claire told her. "I have a list of foods and I need enough for twenty-five."

"Alright, it'll be just a couple of minutes."

As the lady went away, Zach and Claire moved aimlessly down the display. She turned and glared at him when she heard him chuckling.

"What?" she asked, her arms folded across her chest.

"You do kind of look like a redheaded Ashton Kutcher in that hat."

"Oh, stop it."

"Which is weird because I always thought you looked like Barbie's little sister."

"Skipper?"

"Stacie, actually."

"Okay, how do you know the names of Barbie's siblings so well?" Claire asked, narrowing her gaze toward him.

"I have an older sister that made me play with her so she could make up stories about her dolls," Zach explained, walking nearer to Claire. "It's probably why she's a starving short-story writer now."

Claire stared at him. "I-I didn't know you had a sister."

"Well, she's six years older than us, so she was never in school when we were," Zach explained shortly.

"But…I still should have _known_," she replied, her face screwing up in mild disgust. "We were friends. Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Zach quirked an eyebrow. "You didn't ask. And it seemed unimportant next to the fact that you can re-grow your kidney," he said the last part in a whisper.

Claire opened her mouth to speak when a sweet-looking, elderly woman said, "Look at you two. You're standing under the mistletoe!"

They looked up simultaneously and found the offending sprig hanging from the rafters.

"Huh. I thought they only hung those things in doorways," Claire said, laughing nervously.

"Apparently, they do things differently in Georgia," Zach muttered back.

"It's like a Christmas surprise," the woman from behind the counter said. "Go on, now. Kiss the girl."

"It's bad luck if you don't kiss," the old woman admonished. "You don't want bad luck at Christmas."

"Go on, girl!" another onlooker encouraged. "He doesn't look like he bites…much."

"Oh, wonderful. Now there's a crowd," Claire muttered, biting her lip. "Someone's gonna recognize me, and then Tracy's cover will be blown and—"

In one swift motion, Zach tilted her face upward and lowered his lips to hers. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Four Mississi—

"Ah-hem."

They broke apart suddenly at the sound of Gretchen clearing her throat. Claire self-consciously adjusted the hat on her head and refused to meet her friend's eyes. Zach turned bright red when the older woman told them what a cute couple they made. He grabbed the wrapped packages from the counter and looked at Gretchen whose arms were equally as full.

"Come on, Claire. Let's pay for this stuff and get out of here."

* * *

"Was it just me, or is there a weird vibe going on?" Ricky whispered to Micah as they got out of Gretchen's car in front of the mansion.

"Oh, it's not just you," Micah whispered. "I think something happened when we were in the toy store."

"I hate it when that happens," Ricky said, opening the back of the vehicle, and grabbing the largest box of packages.

Micah took the next box and Claire and Zach both reached for the last one. They looked at one another for the first time since leaving the grocery store. Zach gently pulled the box away and said, "I got it."

Claire sighed deeply and took off the hat and shook out her hair. "That feels good," she commented to no one in particular.

"Well, I think I'm gonna go," Gretchen said, shutting the back door of her car.

"You can't stay any longer?"

"I told you I had to leave this afternoon," Gretchen reminded her defensively.

"I know," Claire answered quickly. "Um…are you going to come back after Christmas? I could use your help studying."

"You don't need my help to study."

"But I'd like your help."

"Why don't you just ask Zach for help?"

"Oh, my God. Is that what this is about?" Claire asked. "It was mistletoe. Zach and I are friends."

Gretchen scoffed. "A kiss between friends lasts half a second, a whole second if someone is drunk," she explained. "You two were kissing for a good three-and-a-half seconds. That's not a 'just friends' thing."

"Gretchen, there's nothing to be jealous of."

"I know there's nothing to be jealous of!" she replied angrily. Gretchen then sighed deeply and said, "You know what; none of it matters. Not really. He was the first person you ever trusted with your secret, and that's something I can never be."

Claire gave her a sympathetic smile and said, "That doesn't mean he's a better friend to me. You've been absolutely amazing these last few months. You're a great friend, and I really needed you."

"You don't need me right now."

"Gretchen—"

"No, Claire, don't. Look, I've got to get home for Christmas. If you decide to go back to school next semester, I'll swing by and pick you up," Gretchen promised. "And I hope you decide to come back. You'll probably feel like both of the Olsen twins, but I think you'll survive…and not just because you can't die."

Claire laughed lightly and quietly said, "Thanks."

"And one more thing," Gretchen said before climbing in behind the wheel, "he came half-way across the country to figure out what made you jump off that Ferris wheel. I'm pretty sure that means something."

Claire stood biting her lip on the dirt driveway as Gretchen's little black car headed west.

* * *

Annapolis, Maryland

"So, you're pretty sure her name was Meredith Gordon?" Remy asked the uniformed man next to her at the bar.

"Her first name was definitely Meredith. I'm at 87% on the Gordon," Commander Reichert answered.

"And this woman was in a relationship with Senator Petrelli?"

"He wasn't a senator at the time," the commander clarified. "He was just a first year cadet. His kid brother was _actually_ still a kid."

Remy chuckled and nodded. "Do you remember where she was from or anything?"

"Kermit, Texas," he answered quickly. "I remember because of the frog. You're not going to find her, though. She's dead. Nathan went to her funeral during our third year. He was actually engaged to Heidi at the time. I'm not sure she ever knew, but it probably pissed Nathan's mom off immensely."

"Momma Petrelli isn't a fan of the lower classes, I take it?"

"That's the understatement of the century," he said before sipping his scotch. "This article you're writing, you're not going to make Nate look bad, are you? He was my wingman and one of my best friends. He was a good man, all told."

"Don't worry, Commander," she replied, patting his forearm lightly. "I'm just presenting an honest portrait of a great man taken tragically and too-soon from this world."

He nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Miss Griffith."

"No, thank you, Commander Reichert. Thank you _very_ much."

* * *

A/N: I was going to open the next chapter with Remy's evilness, but decided to stick her in here...Next Time:

Peter meets Emma's visitor...

Micah faces the music...and Molly...

Zach and Claire go for Olympic gold in avoiding one another...

Tessa and Lee's abilities are revealed...

Gabriel and Elle discuss the merits of sex on the floor...


	14. Getting Better

Midtown Manhattan

Peter climbed the stairs of Emma's apartment building. He hadn't even gotten a reply to the message he'd sent telling her he was going to be late. It started to concern him, but he didn't feel anything terribly ominous, so he climbed.

He rang Emma's doorbell and waited. No answer. He listened at the door, but couldn't hear anything. He rang again and bit his lip to keep from freaking out. His eyebrows shot up in surprise when a tall, handsome, dark-haired, bearded man answered the door.

"You must be Peter," the man said. "I'll tell Emma you stopped by."

With that, the man shut the door in Peter's face. He spent a good half-minute in stunned silence before turning around and walking back down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. It was starting to snow, and Peter popped the collar of his coat to keep out the chill. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared down at his feet as he made his way up the sidewalk.

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment

"Was someone at the door?" she asked, setting two cups down on the table.

He moved away from the door and said with his mouth and hands, "Yeah, you didn't see the light. It was just some delivery guy looking for your neighbor."

Her forehead crinkled and her gaze toward him narrowed. "You're lying," she told him. "You have a tell."

He smiled slightly and replied, "You know, that's what I always hated about deaf people."

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her kitchen to get the sugar. She glanced out the window that faced the street and saw a familiar, raven-haired figure. He was walking away from her building, and even from three stories up she could see could see the disappointed and hurt look on his face.

She turned angrily on the man sipping tea at her kitchen table. "What did you say to him?" she demanded.

"Who?"

"I'm deaf, not stupid, Stephen," she reminded him sarcastically. "I saw him from the window. He was upset. What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything to him."

"You're lying."

"Mom called _me_, of all people, Em," he said, suddenly standing up. "She called me to come here and talk to you about this guy. And, you know what, I've lived in New York my whole life too, and the Petrellis are nothing but trouble. You need to stay away from him, Em."

"You don't know him! Neither of you do!"

"How well do _you_ know him? Em, you just met him."

"I've known him for months."

He was taken aback slightly before he saying, "And you didn't tell anyone until _now_? Not even Mom? Emma, that's not like you."

"Maybe you don't know me, either," she said before grabbing her coat from a peg by the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, grabbing her arm.

She shook him off and replied, "That's none of your business, Stephen. I-I wish…you would have come for different reasons. I'm sorry."

She closed the door behind her and raced down the stairs, buttoning her coat as she went.

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

"How's your leg?"

"It'll be fine if I don't fall down again," Elle replied, toweling her hair. "You did a good job on my stitches."

"I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened."

"It was my fault."

"I shouldn't have scared you taking him when you were asleep."

"Gabriel, you have plenty of things to beat yourself up for, but spending time with your son isn't one of them," Elle assured him. "I just…I was an only child and sharing was never my strong suit."

Gabriel chuckled slightly as he moved closer to her. His eyes suddenly darkened and his face became quite serious.

"What?"

He crashed his lips to hers and other than a wince of surprise, she didn't resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clutched at the longer hairs on his head. When he started to move the bathrobe off her shoulders, however, she broke off and pushed him away.

"Oh my God, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" he asked quickly.

"No, I'm fine," Elle replied, maintaining a three foot distance. "But…if we keep going, we're going to end up having sex on the floor."

"Uh, is-is that a problem?" Gabriel asked, shifting from foot-to-foot uncomfortably.

"No!" she answered quickly. "I mean yes. I mean…crazy, horny people have sex on the floor."

"Elle, we—"

"I know that's the only place we've ever had sex," she cut him off. "Except it was a different floor, and—oh, never mind. Look, we're not horny teenagers anymore."

"_We_ never were," he replied, his brow furrowed as he took a step closer to her.

She backed up to maintain the distance and grabbed onto the mantel for support as she laughed nervously. "We had the horny, rebellious teenager act down, though, you must admit, and I can't do that anymore. _We_ can't do that anymore. We're parents and parents don't have sex on the floor. At least I don't think they do. I—goodnight, Gabriel."

She hobbled back to her room and shut the door as quietly as she could. She went to the crib to find Mikey still sleeping peacefully. She shed the robe, leaving her in her shorts and camisole. She then tied her wet, blonde locks into a bun and climbed beneath the covers.

She laid there for only a minute before the door opened and closed and Gabriel stood in the room silhouetted in moonlight. She watched silently as he pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his belt.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked as he kicked away his pants.

"I'm going to sleep with you," he answered before setting his glasses on the nightstand and crawling into the bed.

"Mikey is right over there," she hissed at him.

"I know," he said, closing his eyes and settling his head on a pillow. "Goodnight, Elle."

Her face softened as she realized he literally meant he was going to sleep with her. She kissed the tip of his nose and said, "Goodnight, Gabriel."

* * *

Upper East Side

Peter never thought he'd come to his childhood home to escape, but that was what he was doing. His apartment was empty and hollow, as was the mansion, but at least it had furniture, and didn't have his mother.

The house officially became Nathan's after the 'death' of their father, but their mother still lived there for a time. She only moved out after Nathan's official death. Peter wasn't even sure to whom the house belonged at the moment. His mother and Heidi decided at some point to unseal the will after the New Year. He was waiting with bated breath to see what lie his mother would tell Heidi about Claire's presence, because Peter knew for a fact Nathan remembered her in his will.

He opened the door to his old room to find half of his comic book collection scattered across the floor. An old St. Joan adventure was on top. Peter always liked St. Joan. Her intentions were pure and her actions rarely countered her intentions. He often wished they all could be a little more like her.

He lay down on his old bed to find it was far more comfortable than the mattress in his apartment. He stared at the ceiling knowing what he was doing was completely unhealthy. He needed to talk to someone before it all started to eat him up inside.

Peter knew he had a wretched habit of falling too hard and too fast. Whereas everyone else in his family was practical and calculating, he believed in love at first sight and happily ever after. Given his previous experiences, he shouldn't still believe in very much at all, but he did. His love for Emma had grown slowly and steadily, but now he was in it, if he was honest with himself, and there was another man answering her door and slamming it in his face.

He rubbed his face with both hands and groaned in frustration before he fished his phone out of his pocket. He quickly dialed the number and waited.

"Hey, Peter. Is something wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong?"

"Something usually is when you call."

"It really shouldn't be that way," he sighed. "I am your uncle, after all."

"I've never really been able to think of you as my uncle."

"Why not?"

"Because you were always my hero first," she answered simply. "It was just a bonus you turned out to be related to me."

Peter smiled and chuckled lightly as they fell into a silence.

"Come on, Peter, tell me what happened," Claire said finally. "Did something happen with Emma?"

"How did you—"

"Tracy told me you were bringing her to the Christmas party," she cut him off. "Deductive reasoning. So what happened?"

"I…don't know," Peter admitted. "I was supposed to go to her apartment to help her get her medical texts out of storage, and when I got there, this guy answered her door, and he knew who I was, and then he just basically told me to go away and slammed the door in my face."

"And you didn't find out who the guy was?"

"No."

"Peter, it could have been a cousin, or a brother, and they might think the Petrellis are just bad news, which isn't an unfair assumption."

"Claire—"

"No, Peter, listen. Why is Emma so important to you anyway?"

"I-she…" he stammered. "We were there for each other when we didn't have anyone else. We helped each other and made each other mad and, truth be told, she was the only reason I was at that carnival. She was the only friend I had, and I couldn't lose her."

"Wow."

"Wow what?"

"She must be pretty amazing to get Peter Petrelli to forget about saving the world for once," Claire said quietly.

"She is," he agreed.

"Then why aren't you fighting for her?" Claire asked. "Hell, Peter, you don't even know if you have something to fight against."

He laughed sardonically in reply. "Have you considered taking this up as a career?"

Claire chuckled along with him. "Sure," she agreed sarcastically, "I'd make a great life coach considering the only things I inherited from the Petrellis were the smart mouth and the stubborn streak."

"One more thing," Peter said, smiling, "did you get out my comic books when you were here."

"Yeah," she answered sheepishly. "Zach was explaining Micah's cousin's ability to me. Apparently, she's St. Joan."

Peter glanced down at the comic book and cocked an eyebrow. "You know, you're supposed to put other people's things back after you look at them."

"We were kind of in a hurry," Claire defended. "Speaking of which, have you heard anything more from that reporter?"

"Nope, but that doesn't mean she's finished," Peter told her. "We're all over the country. She could have gone anywhere to keep researching her story."

"I think it's going to get better, Peter," she said after a short silence.

He thought about his dream. It always started out sunny, and beautiful, and on a beach before the blood and the darkness.

"I know," he said, "and then it'll get worse."

"Peter—"

"Trust me, Claire."

"Well…are you going to make it better?"

"Maybe," he replied flippantly.

"Stop being such a smart ass."

"It came with the last name," he joked back.

"Goodnight, Peter."

"Night."

As he hung up the phone, he noticed he'd gotten a new text message. It read: 'I looked for you. Please come back to my apartment. I'll explain everything.' It was from Emma.

Peter sighed and picked up his comic books and put them back in their box and slid them under his bed. It was time to put childish things away.

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment, Midtown Manhattan

She hadn't seen Stephen in two years since he told her he and his wife were divorcing. She didn't make an effort and neither did he. It was just too painful. She also couldn't figure out which was more unbelievable: the fact that her mother called him, or that he came at all.

The light indicating someone was at the door started flashing. She looked through the peephole and saw Peter on the other side. His messenger bag hung off of one shoulder and his hands were firmly encamped in his coat pockets. His lips were pursed tightly together and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

She opened the door for him and silently motioned for him to come inside. He followed her lead and sat down next to her on the couch. The awkward silence grew until Emma said, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Peter told her, not quite meeting her eyes. "I was just a little taken off guard, and-and…I thought you didn't want to see me, since he was here."

"Peter," Emma said, touching him lightly on the shoulder, "it was my brother."

"What?" he asked, finally looking up at her.

"Stephen, the man you saw at the door, he's my brother," Emma explained.

"Oh," Peter replied, unable to keep the look of relief from spreading across his features.

"I-I didn't see the light and he answered the door, and my mother called him, and she-she…" Emma's voice drifted off as she buried her face in her hands.

Peter reached out and gently pulled her hands away from her face. "Emma, you can tell me. You can tell me anything."

"I haven't seen Stephen in two years. I haven't really spoken to him since Christopher…"

"Christopher was his son?" Peter asked.

She nodded. "My mother called him. She wanted him to talk to me because she-she doesn't want me to see you. She thinks you're trouble."

Peter began to laugh, which startled Emma slightly. "What?" she asked. "Why are you laughing?"

"It's just…I was never the Petrelli mothers worried about leaving their daughters with," he explained. "That was Nathan."

"She thinks you're crazy," Emma said, focusing on her shoes.

"That's Nathan's fault too," Peter muttered.

"They don't know you," she said, squeezing his hand.

He looked up at her and smiled before gently pulling her face toward his and kissing her softly. "Don't stay mad at your brother," he advised. "He came because he cares about you."

"He thinks I'm making a mistake."

"You're not," Peter assured her. "But he came to you. Don't shut him out. It's not a good way to live. Believe me, I know. You-you saved me from that."

She brushed some stray black hairs from his forehead and said, "I think we saved each other."

* * *

Washington, D.C.

Noah carefully balanced his sack of groceries in one arm while he opened the door with the other. He knew something was wrong the instant he stepped into his apartment. He set the sack down on the floor and pulled his gun from his shoulder holster.

"'Allo, Noah."

He turned to find a worn, but familiar presence behind him. "Claude?" he asked, his muscles still clenched.

"You gonna shoot me again?"

"Depends," Noah answered. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Relax," Claude told him, sitting atop the bureau. "I know you and the Iron Maiden are lookin' for Larissa Morgan. Congratulations on actually landin' that one, by the way."

Noah rolled his eyes, but kept his gun trained on the other man. "What do you know about Larissa Morgan?"

"I know who took her," Claude answered, "but I'm gonna need some help if we ever want to know why, or where they are."

Noah finally relaxed and holstered his weapon. "Talk."

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

Claire tiptoed down the stairs and started to go into one of the sitting rooms until she saw Zach teaching Lee to draw using a computer program. She then turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction. She didn't get far before she ran right into another body.

"God, Ricky, you scared me."

He grinned at her lopsidedly and said, "What, exactly, happened yesterday?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You and your buddy in there," Ricky replied, motioning toward the sitting room. "You haven't even been in the same room since we got back from town yesterday. What happened when me and Micah weren't around?"

"Nothing happened, Ricky," Claire said, walking around him.

"Hey, I may be younger than you, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid," he told her, rushing to get in front of her again. "I know something happened. What was it?"

"It was nothing, really," she tried to tell him. "We just kissed under the mistletoe in that store."

"Oh, I get it," Ricky replied, nodding. "It's weird because you're friends."

"Um, yeah," Claire replied, mildly stunned. "That's very intuitive of you."

"Not really," he excused, shrugging. "I just watch a lot of TV."

Claire quirked an eyebrow at his retreating back before going in search of a good book.

"Is something wrong?" Micah asked when he found Tracy in the kitchen leaning against the island and staring at the stove.

"Why would you ask that?"

"That's the face my mom would get when something was bothering her," Micah explained, pulling a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

Tracy smiled slightly. "I can't cook," she explained simply.

"Okay."

"I was going to hire a cook, like I usually did when I planned these things, but I can't bring in an outsider," she continued. "I must be off my game if I missed a detail like that."

"Nana can cook."

"Micah, I'm not going to ask your grandmother to cook for all of us."

"Nana likes to cook. She won't mind. I'll ask her."

Tracy scoffed and said, "What makes you think she's going to do anything you ask after you ran away and left a text message on Monica's phone?"

"That's how the modern generation does things," he replied sarcastically.

"You shouldn't have run away at all."

"I've done much more dangerous things in my life," he reminded her.

"You don't have to keep doing them, Micah," she told him. "You're fifteen. Act like a kid occasionally."

"I'll do my best," he replied, rolling his eyes.

"They're here!" Ricky's voice called out.

"Time to face the music," Micah muttered.

* * *

"You know, what I don't understand most of all is why? Why would you do this to us, Micah?" Monica asked, pacing back and forth across the study while Micah sat in a chair and stared at the wall.

"I didn't do anything to you."

"Bull. You scared us half to death."

"I told you where I was," he defended evenly.

"You didn't ask permission, Micah! You know better," she told him firmly.

"I don't _have_ to ask your permission!" Micah yelled, standing up.

"Don't you dare do that," Monica warned him. "Don't you play that surly teenager routine with me. I get enough of that from Damon."

"Lay off me, Monica," Micah told her before storming out the door.

"Micah!"

He stormed out of the house nearly knocking Claire over and then Zach as he reached the door.

"What was that all about?" Claire asked.

"I have no idea," Zach answered honestly.

"He's just being a teenager," Monica muttered, shaking her head and walking into a sitting room with the rest of her family.

Monica's absence left Claire and Zach alone in the hallway staring awkwardly at their shoes.

"I'm gonna go talk to him," Zach said quickly.

"Yeah, I'm gonna go…do something else," Claire said, turning on her heel.

Zach followed Micah's path and found him underneath an old oak tree. "I know I don't know Monica all _that_ well, but she did save my ass that once, and I know she didn't deserve your angst-ridden teenager act."

"You don't know me, Zach."

"That's fair," Zach agreed. "I don't know you that well, and you probably shouldn't have jumped in a car and gone halfway across the country with me, and a strange woman with a baby. It's actually a pretty stupid idea, and you're supposed to be a genius."

Micah rolled his eyes and said, "I knew you weren't a serial killer."

"Come on, Micah," Zach pleaded. "Maybe I don't know you that well, but I know that this yelling and stomping around angrily _isn't_ you. What's going on?"

Micah shrugged noncommittally. "I always wanted to be a hero."

"From what I heard, mission accomplished," Zach replied.

"When I saw Claire jump off that Ferris wheel, I knew it was going to mean something huge," Micah explained. "We kind of live in our own world in New Orleans."

"Unfortunately, I think the rest of the world feels the same way about New Orleans," Zach said. "Claire made a decision, albeit a stupid one in my opinion, but Claire is nineteen, and—"

"Age is just a number," Micah interrupted. "I'm just as grown up as she is. I don't want to be an little orphaned kid anymore."

"That is probably true," Zach agreed, nodding, "but maybe you should give being a teenager a shot. It's okay…for the most part. And, if you don't want to be treated like a kid, you probably shouldn't act like one."

Micah looked up at him. "You think I should apologize?"

"Yeah, that would be a start," Zach said in a snarky tone.

"I guess that's a good idea," Micah finally agreed, moving toward the house. "By the way, avoiding your issues doesn't solve anything."

"Go apologize to your cousin," Zach reiterated loudly.

* * *

"Micah, are you absolutely sure?" his grandmother asked them.

"Why don't you just use your ability thing and print out a high school diploma?"

"Damon!" Monica admonished.

"You know what, this doesn't involve me. I'm gonna watch some TV," he said before walking past Micah and into the other room.

"He does have a point, Micah," Monica said. "You could just use your ability, and—"

"I'm smart without my ability," Micah cut her off. "I can take the test, and get my GED."

"And then what are you going to do?" Nana asked him

"I don't know," he answered, shrugging. "Maybe I'll start my own I.T. company. That sounds like a good cover, and a way to use my ability positively."

Monica folded her arms across her chest and regarded him thoughtfully. "You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?"

"Off and on," Micah replied. "Since before Mom died. I just…I don't want to be a kid anymore."

Nana stood up and kissed him on the forehead. "I think you'll do just fine," she said before walking into the next room.

Micah looked back at Monica. Her arms were still folded across her chest and her mouth was twisted into an unreadable expression.

"Sometimes I really wish you weren't such a good kid," she said, looking at the floor.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means I can't think of anything to ground you from," she said, standing up. "Micah, even if you become an adult by all the standards of our society, you still need to tell us where you are and where you're going. And I'm talking face-to-face, not this texting crap. You hear me?"

He smiled and nodded. "I hear you."

"More people!" Ricky's voice called out.

Curious, everyone in the house started moving toward the front door. Micah's breath caught in his throat when he saw the sole teenager among the three adults and a toddler. Her hair was in a long braid draped over her shoulder, her skin was darker, and her face was far more mature than Micah felt at that moment.

"Hi," he managed to choke out.

"Hey," she replied, looking at the floor and tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

"What's going on?" Mohinder whispered to Janice.

"I think it's episode one of 'Molly and Micah: The Early Years,'" Janice whispered back adjusting the child on her hip.

"Oh, God," Matt muttered.

"Huh," Monica laughed. "I think I finally found something to ground him from."

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment, Midtown Manhattan

Peter thought his head was buzzing, but as he came nearer to consciousness, he realized it was the buzzing of Emma's doorbell. They had fallen asleep on her couch talking. She was sound asleep, nestled between his body and the back of the couch, her head resting on his chest. He slipped out from beneath her, and she stirred only slightly, but remained asleep.

He walked toward the door and looked through the peephole. Emma's brother, Stephen, stood on the other side biting his lip and shifting nervously on the balls of his feet. Peter took a deep breath, undid the chain, and opened the door.

"Huh," Stephen began with stilted laughter. "The irony of this situation isn't lost on me. And I wouldn't blame you if you slammed the door in my face right now. I came here to apologize to Em, and you, by proxy, but I guess I'll just apologize to your face. I'm sorry. Emma told me that I didn't know you, and I guess I don't. I judged you on my mother's opinion and the little I've heard, which isn't all positive. I just…I haven't really been in my sister's life for a long time because—"

"I know," Peter interrupted. "She told me."

Stephen smiled at him kindly. "You didn't even realize you did that, did you?"

"Did what?"

"You signed when you interrupted me," Stephen explained. "You cared enough to pick up her language. I don't think a sociopath would do that. I guess _your_ brother was wrong about you."

Peter smiled slightly. "Nathan was a good man," he said, "but he was far from a great one. He wasn't above using his family to get ahead."

"Well, brothers can be assholes sometimes," Stephen said. "I speak from the voice of experience."

Peter laughed lightly as he heard the cat jumping onto the couch. Emma sat up, holding the cat in her arms.

_What?_ she signed.

"It's your brother," Peter told her.

Stephen leaned into the doorway and waved. "Hey, Em."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, getting up, her cat still in her arms.

"I came to apologize," Stephen said, signing simultaneously. "I'm sorry, Em."

Her face remained stern. "You should apologize to Peter," she told him.

"He did," Peter assured her."

"I just wanted to be your brother again, Em," he said, finishing with his hands open.

Emma looked at Peter who smirked and nodded in reply. She looked back at her brother and said, "Come in."


	15. Christmastime Is Here

A/N: This took me forever, but it's over 6000 words long, so enjoy it. It's also a little racier than the rest of the story, but nothing to warrant a rating change. There's a ton of Syelle, plenty of Pemma, some Clach, and Mocah if you squint. Hopefully, I'll update soon. Thanks for reading y'all!

* * *

Kermit, Texas

Remy Griffith was a life-long New Yorker. Though the landscape of her home was basically flat, one couldn't tell due to all the architecture. That wasn't the case in Kermit, Texas. It seemed that all of west Texas had, at some point been flattened with a giant hammer. The downside was the utter boredom. The upside was the fact that one could see for miles from just a couple of stories up.

Remy wasn't a couple of stories up, however. She was in the basement of the Winkler county court house researching everything she could on Meredith Gordon. She'd charmed her way inside with a southern accent and a story about being a University of Texas student doing a study on the history of the 20th century oil boom. No one bothered her.

She found where Meredith Gordon supposedly died—Remy had already found the more recent death certificate ordered in New York after a fire at a company called Primatech Paper—and then moved back fifteen years later. The pictures matched. It was definitely the same woman, though no one apparently noticed. The woman also bore a strong resemblance to Claire Bennet. The two women could definitely be related, but she had no hard evidence.

She'd almost given up when the drawer she was looking in fell out of the cabinet completely. As she sifted through the papers jammed in the back, she found the piece of the puzzle for which she'd been looking. It was a copy of a birth certificate issued nineteen years earlier at Winkler County Hospital for Claire Anne Gordon. The mother was listed as Meredith Gordon. The father was listed as Nathan Petrelli.

Christmas was looking up.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"Dad, I get it. When you commit to a project, you really commit."

"I was actually looking forward to this party," Noah told her. "It would have been nice to see everybody, and I haven't seen your brother in a long time. I talked to your mom, though, and he decided to stay in California with his girlfriend."

"He's probably mad at me," Claire suggested. "He should really consider the fact that Bennet is a very common name."

Noah chuckled lightly. "Merry Christmas, Clairebear."

"Merry Christmas, Dad," Claire said with forced civility before turning off her phone and tossing it on the bed.

She was sharing her room with Molly, but the girl had been up so late the previous night talking to Micah, she was still sound asleep. Claire eyed her textbooks momentarily, but determined it was some sort of felony to study on Christmas Eve. She then decided to check out Tracy's Christmas movie collection wearing nothing but her tank top and shorts.

She carefully closed the door behind her so as not to disturb Molly, but she umphed loudly when she turned and instantly collided with another body. She grabbed his arms to remain upright and his hands went instinctually to her waist. She looked up to see Zach's shocked face and bare chest. His only clothing was actually a towel wrapped securely around his waist. Her skin felt suddenly hot against his ice-cold body.

"Uh, wh-what's with the outfit?" she asked, attempting humor.

He immediately let go of her and backed away about a foot. "I-the-the hot water suddenly quit, and I didn't think anyone would be up, and…I'm gonna leave," he said quickly before bolting around the corner clutching the towel at his waist.

"He's really grown up. He used to be nothin' but skin and bones."

"Mom!" Claire exclaimed before rushing to hug her mother.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's so good to see you," Sandra told her, squeezing her tightly. "I'm not sure about the hair, though."

Claire sighed and said, "No one is. It's okay. I missed you, Mom."

"I've missed you, too."

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

Elle sat on the porch of the cabin looking out on the snowman Gabriel and Mikey built. Gabriel really built it. Mikey just handed him snow and put the charcoal in place for the eyes. She pulled the wool blanket closer around herself as she sipped her hot chocolate.

"He went right to sleep," Gabriel said, sitting down next to her and covering his lap with what was left of the large blanket. "You could have played with us. You're walking better now."

"I just like looking at snow," she excused.

"That's a lie," he replied evenly.

Elle groaned and said, "You know, that is _really_ unfair."

"Life isn't fair."

"You're going to be a very clichéd parent."

Gabriel cocked a dubious eyebrow and said, "Come on, Elle. Why didn't you want to play with us?"

"Water carries an electric current."

"Okay," Gabriel replied, unsure of what she meant.

"Snow is just frozen water."

"I know that."

She looked him in the eye and said, "I killed my babysitter playing in the snow when I was five."

"Oh," Gabriel said, flinching slightly. "You didn't mean to."

"Of course not," she answered, a sarcastic edge to her voice. "I killed a lot of people accidentally. You killed a lot of people because you couldn't help yourself. Sometimes…sometimes I wonder how many people Mikey's gonna kill."

Gabriel wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they shook with sobs. She cried into his shirt and he kissed the crown of her head.

"You shouldn't do this to yourself," he advised gently. "We don't even know if he has an ability."

"Oh, please," Elle replied, rolling her eyes.

"Nathan wasn't born with an ability," he argued.

She shrugged. "But we're still his parents. We're gonna screw him up. We managed to screw ourselves up pretty good."

"Then think about Peter," he told her, sighing. "His parents were and are the world's worst, but he's still…"

"A frickin' choir boy?" Elle finished.

"Basically," he smiled. "We made our own choices, Elle. We just have to make sure Mikey makes the right ones."

Elle brushed his dark hair from his forehead and let her hand linger on his face. "I love you," she said quietly.

His expression fell off completely. "I, um, I…" he stammered.

"It's okay," she assured him with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'll throw together some sandwiches for lunch."

She hobbled into the house leaving him to stare in her wake.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"You guys really shouldn't have to be doing this," Tracy told the people gathered in the mansion's large kitchen.

"Don't you worry," Nana told her before opening the oven to baste the turkey. "I haven't had a need to cook a big meal in a long time. This is wonderful."

"It beats Burger Barn," Monica said, slicing apples for a pie.

"That's your opinion," Micah muttered as he dropped another potato skin into the trash.

"Now you're not going to make that shrimp curry, are you?" Sandra asked Mohinder, only half joking.

"No," he answered, smiling as he looked up from the sauce he was making. "I'm fairly sure Molly and I are the only people who could stomach my mother's shrimp curry."

"Molly likes curry?" Micah asked with sudden interest.

Mohinder smiled kindly and said, "She's been living in India the last two years. She either had to develop a taste, or starve."

"Who hasn't arrived yet?" Nana asked Tracy.

"Well, Hiro, Ando, and Hiro's sister could pop in anytime. And by pop in, I literally mean pop in," Tracy explained. "Noah cancelled and Mrs. Petrelli decided to spend the holidays with Nathan's ex-wife and her grandsons."

"That's probably for the best," Sandra muttered, folding strawberries into a bowl of cream.

"Probably," Tracy agreed. "That just leaves Peter and Emma."

She suddenly slapped a hand to her forehead. "Oh, my God! I'm such an idiot."

"What?" Micah asked her.

"I have to ask Claire something. Where is she?"

"She's up in her room studying," Sandra answered.

"It's Christmas Eve."

"I know, but she's decided she's going back to school, and she wants to catch up," Sandra explained.

"Ugh," Tracy grumbled. "I have to ask her an awkward question."

* * *

"Hey, can I come in?" Tracy asked, knocking lightly on Claire's half-open door.

"Sure," Claire said, sitting up and pushing away her organic chemistry book.

"Is there a reason you're up here studying? It's Christmas Eve."

"I know. It's just…Mom's helping in the kitchen, and the guys finally fixed the water heater, and I am admittedly avoiding Zach," Claire explained in one breath.

Tracy's forehead furrowed in confusion. "Are you guys still freaking about that kiss?"

"How—"

"Ricky?"

"That boy talks way too much," Claire muttered. "And, I just don't know what to do about it. Running into him half-naked in the hall didn't help either."

"Why were you half-naked in the hall?"

"Not me. Him," Claire explained. "The hot water went out while he was in the shower and…you get the idea."

"I do," Tracy assured her, "and I'm afraid I don't really have any good advice. I never really did the friends thing with the opposite sex."

Claire chuckled slightly. "I guess I'll just have to figure it out on my own."

"Well, before you get started on that, I have to ask you a kind of awkward question," Tracy said, sitting down on the end of the bed.

"Shoot."

"Do you know if Peter is sleeping with Emma?"

Claire's eyebrows shot up. "Wow. That is an awkward question."

"It's just…I put them in the same room, but I don't want to force them into anything, or make it uncomfortable, and you talk to him more than the rest of us, and it's sort of a given that if you go out of town with someone, you're probably sleeping with them, but everyone seems to think he's some sort of saint, and—"

"Tracy, stop, please?" Claire asked. "I don't know if Peter is sleeping with Emma. I don't think so because they kind of just started their relationship, but…just because Peter's a saint doesn't mean he's not still a man."

"True. If he's anything like his brother, he—" Tracy suddenly stopped herself and said, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Claire told her. "I know better than most people that Nathan wasn't perfect. My suggestion on the whole Peter/Emma situation is to show Emma her room and Peter will figure out what to do."

"Thank you," Tracy said, standing up. "You know, you're actually pretty good at this problem solving thing. Did you ever think about PR as a career?"

Claire shook her head. "It's funny. You're the second person to offer me career advice this week."

"Your mom said you decided to stay in school," Tracy explained. "You're going to have to declare a major at some point."

"Well, I have to find out whether or not going to school will work at all now that I'm the indestructible girl from the news," Claire replied.

"You never know," Tracy said, moving toward the door. "It's a brave new world out there."

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

Elle saw Gabriel out of the corner of her eye as she peered into the refrigerator.

"Uh, it looks like we're out of roast beef," she said, grabbing a package of ham and a jar of mayo.

"Why?" he asked flatly

"Maybe because we ate it all?" Elle suggested as she got a plate down from the cabinet.

"That's not what I mean," he growled, roughly grabbing her arm.

"You're hurting me," Elle winced and he immediately let go and backed away nearly a foot.

"Why would you say that?" he asked more calmly.

"Because…I believe it," she replied.

"Same question: why?"

"Why what?" she asked, exasperated.

"Why would you love me?"

"You're more worthy than you give yourself credit for. You always were."

He took a step closer to her. "You really think you know me that well?"

She nodded. "You're not nearly as complicated as you think you are," she told him quietly.

He pressed his body against hers and attacked her mouth with his. When he couldn't push her back further, he grabbed the back of her thighs and lifted her on top of the counter. She winced slightly at the pain stretching the suture in her right thigh gave her, but she pulled him closer and wrapped her legs around his waist.

Mikey wailed from the bedroom and the two people in the kitchen suddenly broke apart.

"I'll go get him," Elle said quickly, easing off the counter.

"I'll…be back later," he said, pulling on his coat.

"Gabriel!" she yelled after him.

"I'll be right back, Elle, I promise."

She groaned in frustration before limping into the bedroom.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"There's no snow," Molly commented to no one in particular. "There should be snow at Christmas."

"I thought you were from California," Micah said, popping his knuckles as he walked out onto the porch. "I didn't think they had too many white Christmases there."

"_They_ don't, but we in the Walker household did," Molly explained. "My dad could freeze things. He would put the sprayer on the hose and then he froze the water, and it would snow in our backyard."

Micah looked at her kindly. "You miss them, your parents."

Her face screwed up in mild disgust. "Of course I do."

"It wasn't a question," he assured her before a wide grin spread across his face. "Come on. I have an idea how we can make it snow in Georgia."

* * *

"Hey," Zach said, knocking lightly on Claire's half-open door.

"Oh, hi," she said, pushing away her book and refusing to meet his eyes.

He stood in the doorway with his hands in his jeans pockets. They looked everywhere but at one another.

"I, um, I think we're acting like idiots," he said suddenly.

"Excuse me?"

He stepped into the room and continued, "We're friends. We kissed. It wasn't a big deal, was it?"

"I-I-I guess not."

"Then why are you avoiding me?"

"Why are you avoiding _me_?" Claire asked, standing up and crossing her arms defensively.

"Because I kissed you!" he replied, his arms motioning wildly.

"I thought you said it wasn't a big deal."

"Well, apparently, I'm full of shit," Zach replied, running his hands through his hair.

Claire flinched at his suddenly aggressive language. "I-well-what do you want to do about it?"

"I don't know," he said more calmly, his hands in his pockets. "I like you, Claire. I always sort of did, but…then you were gone, and I never knew what happened. I don't think I ever really got over the what might have been."

Claire bit her lip and looked at the floor as he laughed mirthlessly.

"I guess there's no going back now that I've rambled on like an idiot," he said. "It's not like we could ever really go back to being friends anyway. We live in different parts of the country."

She reached out and grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. "Zach, wait," she asked, holding him in place. "I never asked you why you came to New York after you saw me on the news. I just…why would you just leave your life like that?"

He shrugged and said, "It wasn't really much of a life. I live with five guys I barely know. The semester was over at the community college where I go, and my family loves me, but they don't particularly care what I'm doing, and…I knew where you were, and Elle knew something, so we came."

Claire let go of him and went back to looking at the floor. "So, you were just bored?"

"God, no!" Zach exclaimed. "I mean, yes, I was bored, but, Claire, I knew something happened. And I knew it was probably not good. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and unlike every other time I wondered about your well-being, I actually knew where to look for you, so…I couldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, you know?"

She looked up at him and smiled before wrapping her arms around his neck. "No matter what happens, you will always be my friend," she assured him.

"What's going to happen?" he asked, hugging her close.

She backed up just enough to see his face and said, "I guess we'll just have to wait and find out."

* * *

"This…was an amazing idea. This is going to be great, Micah," Tracy said, holding the water hose in one hand and freezing the water into tiny flakes of snow with the other.

"Well, I just put two and two together," he excused. "It was all Molly."

"Not so much," she said after capturing a flake on her tongue. "The idea really belongs to my dad."

"Well, whoever thought of it, it's going to make this place so much more Christmasy," Tracy said. "Savannah's nice, but I got used to the weather in New England."

"Micah, we need your help here!" Monica called from the kitchen door.

"Of course you do," Micah muttered under his breath before marching back toward the house.

Molly leaned against a nearby tree and watched the snow fall with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Something on your mind?" Tracy asked.

"It's nothing really," Molly replied. "You just look an awful lot like Micah's mom."

"She was my sister, apparently," Tracy said, adjusting the hose so more snow landed on the roof. "Did you know her well?"

"Not really," Molly admitted. "She did help save my life, and the world once. Has anyone ever told you about Kirby Plaza?"

"Oh, yeah," Tracy answered. "Everyone acts like it was our finest hour or something."

Molly shook her head. "Not really. I mean, yeah, it was amazing, and we saved the world, but…I've had the ability to keep an eye on everyone the last three years. We've all had really fine hours at one point or another."

Tracy quirked an eyebrow at her. "You and Micah kind of amaze me."

"How so?"

"You're both remarkably positive despite everything you've seen and everything you've lost."

Molly shrugged and looked at her shoes. "We may have lost our families because of what these abilities did to us and them, but these abilities also helped us find our new families. There's an upside to everything."

Tracy smiled back at her. "Yeah, I guess there is."

They stood in silence for a few more minutes. Claire and Zach walked out onto the porch and sat in the swing while they watched Tracy work. She smiled at how happy they looked

"I hope Peter and Hiro get here soon," Tracy said, moving the hose around. "It's forty degrees out here. This snow isn't going to last very long."

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

Elle released a sigh of relief when Gabriel came back to the cabin with a sack full of groceries.

"Hey," he said quietly. "I went to get some supplies. The stores close early today and aren't open at all tomorrow."

"Oh. Good idea," Elle replied, sipping her tea and staring into space.

Mikey got up from his pile of toys and tugged on Gabriel's pant leg. "Daddy, come play with me!"

"Here. I'll take those," she said, standing up.

He held the bag tighter and said, "Are you sure you should be walking around like that?"

"Gabriel, I'm fine. I'm not nearly as big a baby as you are. Give me the sack," she demanded.

He reluctantly handed it over as Mikey pulled him to the ground by the hand. Elle limped into the kitchen with the paper sack in her arms. She looked through the contents and discovered roast beef, frozen turkey breast with gravy, milk, diapers, a small set of Lincoln Logs, and a box of condoms.

She stared for a moment to make sure she hadn't imagined the last item. She found herself grinning when she realized she wasn't hallucinating. She then went about putting away the rest of the groceries. It was shaping up to be a better Christmas than she'd ever had.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"Are you nervous?"

"A little. How'd you know?'

"Your knuckles are white."

Peter loosened his grip on the steering wheel of the rental car they'd picked up at the airport. "It's…a little weird. I count these people among my friends, but I don't know very much about any of them except Claire. And the only reason I know anything about her is because she's my niece."

Emma looked down at her thumbs twiddling in her lap. "I thought it might have been because of me," she said quietly.

"No way," he assured her firmly. "You're actually making this easier."

She smiled shyly and he reached over and took one of her hands in his. The whole truth was that Emma was indeed making him nervous. They held hands, they talked, they kissed, and they even fell asleep together on her couch, but that was as far as their relationship had taken them. Considering his past relationships, he was more than a little reluctant to take the next step.

These thoughts were shoved to the side, however, when he pulled into the long driveway of Tracy's house.

"Oh, my God," Emma breathed.

"It's beautiful."

"Is it real?"

"Probably," Peter replied. "Tracy has the power to freeze anything. I guess she made it snow."

"It's amazing," she said as they pulled to a stop.

They got out of the car with their one bag each and walked into the house through the open door. A young man with an open and friendly expression wearing a ball cap stopped and looked at them.

"You're not Japanese."

"Uh, no."

"That must make you Peter and Emma. I'm Ricky," he said, offering his hand to both of them. He then turned around an shouted, "Peter and his girlfriend are here!"

Peter was glad Emma couldn't read Ricky's lips with his back to her. Tracy was the first to appear with a bright smile.

"Hey, you made it. Dinner is in half an hour. Hiro isn't here yet, but he can get here in half a second, so that's not a huge worry. Still, I think I'll give him a call. Ricky, do you think you could take their things upstairs?"

"Sure, Aunt Tracy," Ricky replied before taking their bags and racing up the stairs.

"I'm glad you guys made it. Both of you," she said as she pulled out her cell phone.

Peter and Emma looked at each other as they stood awkwardly alone in the foyer before he heard Tracy yelp from the next room. He rushed around the corner to find Tracy clutching her chest in front of Hiro, Ando, and a woman Peter assumed to be Hiro's sister.

"Tracy Strauss! So sorry. Did not mean to frighten."

Peter felt Emma by his side and Hiro's naturally bright face grew brighter.

"Emma The Also Magnificent! You are here!" Hiro exclaimed, rushing to her with his arms outstretched. "And with Peter Petrelli. So good to see you both."

"Good to see you, too, Hiro," Peter replied. "Feeling better?"

"All better. Come meet my sister!"

Hiro happily introduced them to his reticent sister. What followed was a stream of reunions and introductions. Mohinder greeted Peter warmly in sharp contrast to Matt's cold hello. Matt's wife was much friendlier. Micah's family was open and welcoming. Tessa and Lee were instantly drawn to Emma, and a middle-aged blonde woman pulled Peter from the group.

"I'm Sandra Bennet, Claire's mom."

"Oh, it's nice to meet you," Peter replied politely.

"I never got the chance to thank you for saving my daughter's life all those years ago," she said, smiling.

"I, um, I didn't really do much," Peter excused.

"You did plenty," Sandra assured him, patting him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm gonna go find that girl."

"No need," Claire said as she entered the room, Zach not far behind her. "Hey, Peter."

"Hey," he replied, pulling his niece into a tight hug. "I want you to meet someone."

He got Emma's attention and had the two women face one another. "Claire, this is Emma. Emma, this is my niece, Claire."

"It's nice to finally meet you," Claire said, shaking the older woman's hand.

"And you," Emma replied, smiling.

"Okay, everybody," Tracy shouted above the din. "Everyone is here, so—as they say in this part of the country—it's supper time."

They all filed into the large dining room and sat down at the long table. The next hour or so passed pleasantly. They all told stories of how they met, but managed to keep the tone light to even the most serious tales. Hiro kept them all entertained with his tales of misadventures with the Dial-A-Hero hotline. Kimiko sighed and shook her head at every story. Molly recited narratives that made Matt and Mohinder blush in embarrassment, and Janice laugh appreciatively.

After the activity died down significantly, Mohinder politely asked their permission to make a toast and stood up. "I come from a diverse country, so I recognize that not all of us will see this festive time of year the same. However, I do find it appropriate that the Christian savior's coming is associated with the redemption of Man. I think we've all been searching for that redemption this last year, and some of us have been more successful than others. Perhaps, in one another, we can find our remaining redemption, and make this year better than the last. Cheers."

"Cheers," everyone agreed.

* * *

Peter wandered into the study and closed the door behind him. Hiro had commandeered Emma and the twins seemed to be attached to her. His whole being ached from all the powers he absorbed. Luckily, none of the powers were terribly dangerous and most of them he'd used before. He lay down on the leather couch and sighed deeply.

A few minutes later, he heard a soft knock on the door. "Come in," he said, sitting up.

Claire appeared with a slight smile. "Hey. You hiding in here?"

"Sort of," he replied as she sat down next to him. "I've absorbed a lot of different powers tonight, and it's worn on me a little."

"You're absorbing multiple powers?" Claire asked, eyebrows arched upward.

"Yeah," he answered, nodding. "I'm not really sure why. It saved my life, though."

"What do you mean?"

"We responded to the scene of a bank robbery and the suspect's partner started firing so the other guy could escape," Peter explained. "A shot ricocheted off the back of the ambulance and nicked me in the neck. It severed the carotid and I bled out."

"Oh, my God, Peter—"

"I healed. Your ability just presented and I walked away with nothing worse than a stained shirt," he assured her.

Claire noticed his expression drifting. She tilted her head slightly and asked, "Why are you in here alone, and not with Emma?"

"Why would you ask that?" he replied, an eyebrow cocking in confusion.

"Peter, you got on a plane with the girl and came all the way to Georgia with her. You faced down a megalomaniac and rescued your brother's murderer for her. She must mean a lot to you," Claire told him.

He laughed sardonically, and said, "Are you _sure_ you're not considering a career in psychology?"

"I'm vastly under-qualified for something like that."

"That's why you go to school, Claire," he reminded her.

"Whatever," she replied, shaking her head. "What are you so afraid of?"

Peter ran both his hands through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. "I really shouldn't be talking about this with you."

She gently laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "I'm not Nathan, but I am his daughter."

"Yes, you are," Peter agreed, looking her directly in the eye.

"Come on, Peter, talk to me."

He rested his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in front of him. Looking down at the carpet, he said, "I haven't been able to have a real relationship since all of this stuff started happening. And it's not just that, it's the fact that the women I have gotten have close to have…died or been trapped in alternate realities. And it was my fault. Emma and I are more than friends, but less than anything else. I-I need her. I can't let something happen to her because of me."

Claire bit her lip, considering his predicament. "You know, I've been careful most of my life. It was the result of being raised by a Company man. But I think now that you have to be willing to take a risk to be really happy."

"And are you really happy, Claire?"

"I can…see how I will be," she replied reluctantly. "How are you going to be happy, Peter?"

"I guess I'll let you know," he replied.

Micah and Molly eventually got Tessa and Lee to detach themselves from Emma's side. Micah sat at the piano playing Christmas carols while Molly encouraged Tessa to show the rest of them how to sign the words. Everyone else had broken into smaller groups of two or three people. Hiro sat with Emma on the couch facing the fireplace.

"So, your best friend is marrying your sister?" Emma asked, motioning toward where Ando and Kimiko were speaking to Tracy in the corner of the room.

"Yes," Hiro answered. "He has loved her forever. They are all the family I have. What about you? Do you have a sister?"

"A brother," Emma replied, her face tightening considerably. "We're not very close anymore."

"Ah. But you and Peter Petrelli; you are together, yes?" Hiro asked in an attempt to change the subject.

Emma simply nodded and sipped her wine.

"Do you think it is true love?"

"What?" Emma asked, startled.

"You and Peter Petrelli. Is it true love?" Hiro repeated.

"I…don't know," Emma answered, looking for an exit. "We've only known each other a few months."

It does not take months," Hiro protested. "I knew I loved Charlie after only a few hours.

"I'm not like you, Hiro. I'm…cautious."

"A hero must sometimes throw caution to the wind," he told her matter-of-factly.

She shook her head. "I'm not a hero."

"You are not a villain."

"No," Emma agreed.

"Then you are a hero and a hero must be willing to take risks for the greater good," he told her with a nod.

Emma attempted to formulate a response as she felt a hand on her shoulder. She automatically smiled when she saw it was Peter.

"Can I steal her from you, Hiro?"

"Of course," he replied with a slight nod.

Peter took Emma's hand as she stood up. His free hand landed on her hip and he kissed her softly, letting it linger to more than a friendly peck on the lips. Her eyes sparkled with her smile as she squeezed his hand. Hiro grinned as they moved toward the piano.

"It is true love," he declared quietly in his native tongue.

* * *

The party had began to break up when the kids started falling asleep. Claire wandered into one of the rooms to find Zach sitting on the floor with his back against the bottom of the couch. The room was dark except for the light from the black-and-white movie on the television screen.

"What are you watching?" she asked as she pulled the throw from the back of the couch and sat down next to him.

"_Holiday Inn_," Zach answered. "We don't really have that many traditions in my family. There were even a couple of years when my mother decided she was agnostic and we didn't celebrate any holidays at all. But my sister and I stayed up all night on Christmas Eve and watched _Holiday Inn _and _White Christmas_ regardless."

She drew her legs up under the blanket and said, "Zach, why didn't you want to go home, or, you know, _stay_ home for Christmas?"

He paused the movie and gave her his full attention. "My sister moved to California with her boyfriend a couple of years ago. She hasn't been back. My mom will probably call me in a few of days and ask me why I wasn't home for Christmas. It's not like she's on drugs or anything, but she's just really self-absorbed sometimes," he explained.

"Wow," Claire said just above a whisper.

"What?"

"It makes me feel like such a jerk for getting mad at my dad," she answered. "Everything he did, he did because he was thinking of me."

"Yeah, but it didn't always look that way," Zach reminded her. "And I'm not complaining. It gave me a lot of freedom and it still does."

Claire leaned over just slightly and kissed him quickly on the lips. She then bit her own lip and said, "Um, would you mind starting the movie over?"

"Not at all," he replied, grinning.

* * *

Peter and Emma stopped at the door to her room. She turned to him and said, "I'm glad you brought me here, Peter. I had a good time getting to know everyone."

"Good. I'm glad."

They stood awkwardly like two teenagers after a movie date. She opened the door slightly, but Peter reached out and stopped her from opening it all the way.

"I have to tell you something," he said. "I, uh, I don't live a simple, normal life. I haven't in a long time, but…I love you, and I really want you to be in my crazy, strange life. I also understand that you're careful and cautious. That's why you're a doctor. And I know that life is going to get harder in a very short time, and I want you there, but I'd get it if you didn't want that."

She was silent and her face seemed more than a little stunned. Peter's shoulder's slumped and tears pooled in his eyes. He started to turn away, but she reached out and stroked his face and ran her fingers through his black hair. He stared at her, a trickle of hope flowing back into his eyes.

"Sometimes," Emma began, "you have to throw caution to the wind."

Peter smirked slightly and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and kissed her hard on the mouth. Her fingers pulled at the hair at the base of his skull as he wrapped his arms around her waist and they both slowly, clumsily made their way through the open door.

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

"So, what do you think?" Elle asked, propping her head up on her elbow that rested on his bare shoulder. "Did we outdo ourselves?"

Gabriel chuckled as he ran his fingers down the length of her spine. "Well, there's a fire in the fireplace. We're on blankets and not our clothes. We are in some dead guy's house, though."

"But no one's started shooting at us yet, so I'd say major improvement," Elle joked, kissing his neck.

"It's not the only thing that improved," he told her.

"Hmm…you know what I want?"

"What?"

"Ice cream!" she announced, grabbing his discarded shirt and wrapping it around herself.

"What?" he repeated as he watched her stumble to her feet and into the kitchen.

"I want ice cream," she yelled from the other room. "I saw some in the freezer the other day."

"It's probably been there for a decade," Gabriel told her, pushing away the old blanket and reaching for his pants.

"Ice cream never goes bad!" she shouted back. "Ooo, there's hot fudge in the cabinet. And maraschino cherries!"

Gabriel shook his head as he heard a knock at the door. He glanced at the clock on the wall and it told him it was three in the morning.

"Who the hell could that be?" Elle asked, clanking dishes together.

"Probably some sucker who broke down on the way to Christmas," he replied, standing up and pulling on a t-shirt.

"What if it's an axe murderer?"

Gabriel could practically hear the smile in her voice. "I think we can handle it," he joked back.

Before he could turn the doorknob, he heard glass shattering and Elle screaming. He called out her name as the door burst open and someone grabbed his hair and pressed cold gun metal to the base of his skull. He didn't have a chance to respond before he saw the Haitian out of the corner of his eye and his powers ebbed from his control. He was forced to his knees as he saw another blonde woman forcing Elle into the room with an arm wrapped around her shoulders and a gun to the shorter woman's head.

"Hello, Gabriel," Noah Bennet's unmistakably cold voice said from the other end of the gun at his skull. "We need to talk."

* * *

A/N: So...Elle and Gabriel shouldn't have sex. Something bad always happens later. R&R people! Thanks!


	16. No Happiness, Nor Cheer

A/N: This chapter's fairly short, and it's almost like a tag to the previous chapter, but I found it increasingly difficult to write from the place I ended it, so I just cut it off. And, if someone can identify the idea I lifted from Babylon 5, I will gladly give you the sci-fi geek of the week award. Hope you enjoy it. I have to work on four papers of varying lengths in the next few days, so I don't know how soon the updates will be. Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review!

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

"You mother fucker!" Elle screamed at Noah, struggling against the woman holding her. "What the _hell_ do you want?"

"The FBI found a woman in a dumpster last night," Noah replied calmly. "The top of her skull came off when they pulled out the body. It was a clean cut. Audrey Hansen flagged it as your MO, Gabriel."

"It wasn't me," he answered as Noah pulled tighter on his hair.

"He's been up here for a week," Elle told him, frantically pulling at the woman's arm around her shoulders. "He couldn't have hurt anyone."

"You sure about that?" the woman asked. "Has he been with you every moment of every day? He can fly. Getting to New York and back would be easy."

Their eyes met from across the room. Her face was an open question while his was a clear plea for understanding. Her gaze shifted to the Haitian and her eyes hazed over in anger.

"Elle?" Gabriel asked as blood started trickling down her nose.

She made no reply before a bolt of electricity leapt from her hand and hit the Haitian square in the chest, knocking him out. She then elbowed her captor in the ribs causing her to drop her gun. She kicked the taller woman with her good leg and forced her to her knees. She twisted the woman's hair in one hand and produced a ball of blue sparks in the other.

"Iron Maiden, right?" she said into the other woman's ear. "I always thought you had a thing for old Glasses."

"Let her go, Elle," he threatened, pulling violently on Gabriel's hair. "He may have moved his kill spot, but this shotgun will take off his head. He won't come back from that."

"Gabriel, just kick his ass," she told him, pushing down on Lauren's head to keep her on her knees.

"No, I won't hurt him," he replied, his fists clenched at his sides.

"He didn't kill anybody, goddammit!" Elle yelled at Noah. "Let him go!"

"Not a chance."

Elle smiled too-sweetly and released a bolt of electricity from the hand holding Lauren's hair causing the woman to crumple in agony. Elle glared back at Noah and said, "You told me about the experiments my father did on me. You know exactly how much electricity I can produce. You let him go, or I pour every volt into your girlfriend here. I will fry her, I swear to God."

"Will you, now?"

This new figure emerged from the bedroom with a sleeping Mikey on his shoulder. Elle's jaw dropped at seeing the man she thought was long dead, but she didn't loosen her hold on Lauren.

"Claude?" she asked. "You're supposed to be dead."

"I could say the same about you, love. You're not gonna kill that woman with your son in the room. And you," he said, directing his words toward Noah, "are not going to execute that man in front of his own son. Both of you, let them go. Now."

"No," Elle and Noah answered together.

Claude grumbled and said, "If he was gonna kill ya, he'd a done it five minutes ago. Let 'im go."

Noah considered what his former partner said for a long moment. He finally let go of the other man and lowered his shotgun slightly. Gabriel quickly got to his feet and gently wrapped a hand around one of Elle's wrists.

"It's okay, Elle," he told her quietly. "You can let go."

She loosened her hold on Lauren's long locks and the woman immediately jumped to Noah's side. Elle silently took Mikey from Claude. The boy stirred in his mother's arms, but she quieted him softly. Claude then helped the Haitian to his feet as the dark man came back to consciousness. They split to different sides of the room with Elle and Gabriel standing near the fireplace and Noah, Lauren and René near the door. Claude stood at the midway point with his arms outstretched to calm them.

"Alright, let's see if we can discuss this without killin' one another."

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

Peter didn't think he had too many bad habits. He didn't smoke. He rarely drank to excess, and when he did, there was always an excellent reason. He was always punctual. He kept his home clean, even when there were actual things in his apartment. He did, however, like to watch people sleep, especially people he cared about. It was partially due to the fact that he was a light sleeper and a morning person, and partially due to the fact that people often revealed their true selves in their sleep.

This habit, however, had gotten him into trouble over the years. Nathan woke up from a bad dream and kicked him in the face involuntarily when Peter was just five. Peter still bore the evidence of that broken nose. His father yelled at him when he was seven. In college, his first serious girlfriend told him it creeped her out when she woke up to find him watching her. He pretended to be asleep when he felt her waking up after that conversation. The relationship still didn't last through his sophomore year. The habit proved helpful after nursing school, however, because as a hospice nurse, eighty-five to ninety percent of his job was watching people sleep.

Emma seemed softer in her sleep. Her tan skin looked plush in the dim light of the winter morning. Stray wisps of blonde hair fell in front of her face and moved with each breath. She smiled and Peter vainly hoped she was dreaming about the previous night.

A part of him wanted to brush the strands of hair away and kiss her fervently as he pulled her naked body flush against his own. But the greater part of his nature was content watching her dream. So he gently brushed the strands away from her face and placed a tender kiss on her forehead. Just watching her was definitely a compromise he could live with.

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

Everyone remained in their corners after nearly ten minutes. Finally, Noah said, "Larissa Morgan was thirty-five. She lived in Charleston, South Carolina her whole life, she had two children, twins. She could control plant life. Did you ever take that ability, Gabriel?"

"No," he answered, his arms folded across his chest defensively.

"When the top of her skull fell off, it was obvious part of her brain had been removed," Noah continued.

Gabriel laughed mirthlessly. "You chased me all those years and you thought it was me?" he asked incredulously.

"Never said we did," Lauren told him.

"Then why did you come in here with guns and your deactivation switch?" Gabriel asked, motioning toward the Haitian.

"You're both psychotic," Noah explained simply.

"Ah, that was helpful," Claude muttered sarcastically.

"Fucking assholes."

"Elle."

"He's asleep. Do _not_ even lecture me," she said firmly with her eyes focused forward.

Gabriel held a hand up in surrender and looked back toward the people on the other side of the room. "Then why are you here?" he asked them.

"We need your expertise," Noah answered. "You have to come with us back to New York."

"Well, Merry Christmas to us," Gabriel muttered, shaking his head.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

Zach awoke to the sound of Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas" on a loop. He was on the floor with his back against the couch. Claire's head rested on his shoulder and his arm rested on the other side of her waist. He twisted his head around to work out the crick in his neck. He blinked two or three times at what he saw in outside the window.

"Claire, you need to wake up. Claire. Claire!" he said, shaking her to consciousness.

"What?" she asked grumpily, her eyes still firmly closed.

"You need to look out the window," he told her.

"What's so amazing about the window? Oh, my God."

Claire's jaw dropped at the whiteness of the world outside the window. Snow covered the ground and the trees and continued to fall from the sky.

"Is Tracy doing that?"

"Don't think so," Zach answered. "Her snow was great and all, that looks really real."

"Come on," Claire said, pulling him to his feet and dragging him toward the door.

They ran out onto the porch and stopped dead when they realized the whole area was covered with snow. Tessa and Lee stood in the middle of the yard holding hands. They seemed to be focused on nothing but the air around them.

"Is this them?" Zach asked.

"It must be," Claire breathed as Tessa raised her free hand and waved at them.

"They've gotta see this," Zach said, taking her hand and leading her back into the house.

* * *

"This puts my snow to shame," Tracy said, sipping her hot chocolate.

"It is the most beautiful Christmas I've had in all my long years," Nana agreed, watching almost everyone else playing in the snow.

"I took lots of pictures so Matty will know he had a white Christmas," Janice said, joining them on the wicker furniture on the porch with a cup of coffee.

"I have gifts for everyone, but I think this would trump anything I could have come up with," Tracy laughed.

"It really is beautiful," Sandra agreed. "The little ones did all this, right? How?"

"Emma got them to tell her, and the way she explained it, Lee can control the temperature in a localized area and Tessa can control water," Tracy told them. "Put them together and you get snow."

"It was very sweet of them."

"They're very sweet kids," Tracy said, watching them avoid the snowballs Damon threw in their general direction. "I hope Bennet finds their mother soon."

* * *

Peter and Emma wandered away from the fray of the furious snowball fight and started piling the powder into a snowman.

"I haven't done this since I was a little girl," Emma said, patting down the midsection.

"It's like riding a bike," Peter told her as he stuck a stick in the torso.

Emma shook her head. "I don't know how to ride a bike," she told him.

"What?" Peter asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

Emma looked up at him and bit her lip. "The first time I tried to ride, I fell and broke my right arm and sprained my left wrist," she explained. "I couldn't even communicate. I decided it wasn't worth it after that, so I just walk."

Peter nodded slightly. "But then you might walk out in front of a bus," he said, unable to suppress a smile.

Emma replied by shoving and handful of snow in his face.

* * *

"That is something I never thought I'd see," Mohinder said as he and Matt leaned against the base of the porch while Matty snoozed on his father's shoulder.

"What are you talking about?"

"Peter," Mohinder answered, motioning to where Peter and Emma had started their own private snowball fight. "I don't think I've ever seen him smile for more than a second in all the years I've known him."

"Well, the last few years haven't exactly been material for _Saturday Night Live_," Matt pointed out.

Mohinder chuckled and shook his head.

Hiro suddenly appeared in front of them dressed in a red, velour suit and hat and carrying a big bag of brightly wrapped gifts.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Dr. Suresh, Matt Parkman, Baby Matt Parkman," Hiro said, bowing slightly with each name. "I have presents for all of you. They are perfect."

He gave Mohinder a box and handed Matt one for himself and for his sleeping son. Mohinder gave the package an obligatory shake and said, "How do you know they're perfect, Hiro?"

"I have my ways," he replied, touching his index finger to the side of his nose.

The two men watched in amusement as Hiro moved toward the larger group.

"A Japanese Santa?" Matt asked.

"Stranger things have happened."

* * *

"Well, I never…" Nana said in awe at the sight of Hiro passing out presents.

"This is so sweet. I have the thank him," Tracy said, moving toward the porch steps.

Her phone started ringing and she answered it without looking at the ID. "Tracy, it's Noah Bennet," the voice on the other end said gravely.

She paused in her journey halfway down the steps and leaned against the banister. "I'm guessing this isn't your average Merry Christmas call."

"No," he confirmed. "Tracy, we found Larissa Morgan. She's dead."

Tracy's heart clenched as tears welled in her eyes. Noah continued, "She was murdered. We don't know why, or how yet, but we've picked up an expert and we should have some more answers by tomorrow afternoon. I'm sorry, Tracy. I know you were hoping we'd find her alive."

"Thank you, Noah," she said, her voice calm despite the sadness evident on her tear-streaked face.

She turned off the phone and stepped off the porch, the snow crunching beneath her boots. She found Emma among the people crowding around Hiro and gently tapped her shoulder. When Emma was looking at her, she said, "I need your help with something."

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

Gabriel quietly walked into the bedroom they had been sharing. Mikey slept peacefully in his crib. It had been a long, tense day, and it hadn't been Christmasy in the slightest. Mikey didn't even get to open the meager present his father got for him, not that he really knew the difference.

After planting a soft kiss on his son's forehead, Gabriel slipped into bed and gently wrapped his arms around Elle's torso.

"When are you leaving?" she asked quietly without turning around to look at him.

"Tomorrow. Early," he answered. "Bennet wanted to go today, but the coroner's office basically told him to fuck himself because it's Christmas."

"Hasn't seemed like Christmas to me," she replied before spinning around in his arms. "Gabriel, why didn't you just take care of Bennet? He deserves it. If anyone in the world deserves it, it's him."

"If-if I hurt him, I was going to kill him," he replied hesitantly. "I don't want to kill anymore, and if I start, I'm not sure I could stop."

She brushed some stray strands of black hair out of his eyes and kissed the tip of his nose. "I understand. But I'm glad it's going to be you in a car with Glasses for five hours, and not me. I'd fry the guy."


	17. Boxing Day

A/N: Ah, well, four seasons was a good run, and it's also the name of a famous chain of high end hotels. anywho, between finals, papers, and getting ready to move for the first time in my life, this is the earliest I've been able to finish this installment. I don't think I provided a preview last chapter (b/c I totally didn't know what I was going to write yet), so here goes:

Claire makes a preemptive plan.

Remy Griffith smells a Pulitzer.

Peter and Emma nearly crash and then crash into bed.

Micah and Molly clash over Sylar.

Gabriel gets support from a highly unlikely, though familiar, source.

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

Peter and Emma were the first to leave. Emma's face was still red and puffy from the day before. The Parkmans and the Dawsons were preparing to leave as well. The house was going to be much emptier soon.

Claire was surprised to find Zach in his room packing a bag. "What are you doing?" she asked, gingerly stepping into the room.

"Well, my mom called," he explained, pulling the drawstring on his duffel. "My sister is in town. Mags has some sort of big announcement and won't say anything until I'm there. I'm guessing her boyfriend knocked her up, but she might have miraculously gotten a loan for a photography studio. I'm not psychic, so I couldn't tell you."

"Be sure to ask her if she's 'knocked up,'" Claire teased. "She'll love that."

"Yeah, sure," Zach laughed.

They stood in awkward silence until he reached out and took both of her hands in his. "So…I guess you'll call, and I'll call, and we'll kiss on the odd occasion that we actually see one another," he said with the merest hint of sarcasm.

"That doesn't sound like much of a plan," she replied.

"Well, you're not really the plan kind of girl right now."

"I guess you're right," she agreed reluctantly.

"So…is this one of the occasions I get to kiss you?"

"I think so," she replied.

Laughing slightly, he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips. They let the kiss linger until they heard someone clearing their throat in the doorway. They broke apart and looked up at a slightly smiling Tracy.

"Hey, Zach. Your plane leaves in an hour and a half. Ricky can drive you."

"Thanks," he replied, squeezing Claire's hand. "I'll call you."

He hefted his bag onto his shoulder and smiled back at her one last time before he disappeared from Claire's sight.

"So, you and Zach…?"

"Not really sure what it is," Claire answered, shrugging, "but it's definitely_ something_."

"I understand that," Tracy said, nodding.

"How are Tessa and Lee?"

"As well as any of us would be," Tracy answered. "I think Tessa almost expected it. She's really mature for nine years old. Emma actually offered to stay for a couple more days, but Tessa told her they would be okay."

"Emma's really nice," Claire said. "And she and Peter work well together."

Tracy nodded silently before she started laughing lightly.

"What?" Claire asked her.

"She's blonde," Tracy stated simply, still laughing.

Claire found herself laughing at the unspoken joke. It was, after all, a well-known fact that Nathan preferred blondes even though he married a raven-haired beauty. "I guess Peter is like Nathan in more respects than we think."

"Maybe," Tracy agreed. "I actually came up here to talk to you about something else entirely. Remy Griffith was the reporter in New York you were sort of fleeing from, right?"

Claire nodded.

"Well, Mohinder gave her an interview."

"He _what_?"

"He just gave her the scientific background of our…situation," Tracy assured her with hands held out to placate the shorter young woman. "He didn't even tell her about the formula because he knew that would end in disaster. Then I had Micah do some checking. Remy Griffith was in Kermit, Texas a couple of days ago. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Oh, God," Claire muttered, covering her face and then running her hands through her hair. "That's where Mom—Meredith—was from. I was born there."

Tracy folded her hands in front of her and said, "Claire, sometimes the best way to deal with a situation like this is to be preemptive about it."

"What do you mean?"

"Give Griffith what she wants," Tracy said, her hands open. "Give her an interview."

Claire shook her head emphatically. "I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because so many people would be affected," Claire argued. "Every connection Nathan had would be turned upside-down. It could expose all of us, especially Peter, and he doesn't want to be exposed. I can't hurt him like that. Not now that he's so happy."

"Claire, listen to me," Tracy began, a hand on either one of Claire's arms, "this Griffith woman is smart and ruthless. The fact that she was in Kermit proves she's close to uncovering everything. It's going to be worse if she just comes out with it and we have no warning."

Claire made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan. "I'm going to the reading of Nathan's will on the second. I won't do it before then," she conceded.

Tracy smiled sympathetically and nodded. "Okay. I'll call the _Times_ and set it up."

* * *

Times Square, New York City

"Well, my little Remington Steele, you've assembled some very compelling evidence here."

"Oh, God, Dan, don't call me that."

"It's your name."

"Not the Steele part."

The almost completely bald man leaned back in his chair and laughed. "Well, you've certainly been chasing this thing down like a hard-boiled detective," he told her. "You can go ahead with all the science stuff, but I'm not comfortable with the rest."

"But—"

"No buts, Remy," he interrupted. "All you've got to tie this Claire Bennet girl to the Petrellis is hearsay and supposition. I personally do not want to degrade the reputation of this national institution printing unfounded rumors."

"I have documents and the word of one of the most decorated officers in the entire goddamned Navy!" she argued.

"Documents based on the testimony of a repeat offender. It's not good enough and you know it."

"Excuse me, Ms. Griffith," a secretary interrupted, poking her head in the door, "you have a phone call."

"We're in a meeting here, Jill," Dan told the woman.

"I know, sir, but the woman said it was important, and that it was about the big story Ms. Griffith has been following."

"I'll take it in here," Remy replied quickly.

"Of course, Remy, you can use my phone even though I'm your boss and you have your own damned space," Dan said in mock irritation.

Remy rolled her eyes and waited for the phone to light up. When it did, she picked it up eagerly and said, "This is Remy Griffith."

"Ms. Griffith, my name is Tracy Strauss," the voice on the other end said evenly.

Remy cocked an eyebrow. "K Street Ice Queen Tracy Strauss?"

The voice on the other end chuckled mirthlessly and replied, "I always hated that nickname."

"But it was _so_ well deserved," Remy told her, her voice dripping with sour sweetness.

"I suppose," Tracy agreed. "I'm calling you today on behalf of Claire Bennet."

"Really?" Remy asked, smiling down at her boss.

"She'd like to sit down and give you that interview you seem to be so desperately seeking," Tracy explained. "January third in New York. We'll email you the exact time and place."

"I'll look forward to it," Remy said before she heard a click and the line went dead.

She hung up the phone and breathed deeply through her nose. "I smell a Pulitzer."

* * *

30,000 Feet Above New York

"Are you sure you're okay?" Peter asked Emma as their flight neared JFK.

"I'm fine," she assured him with a sad smile. "I just feel so bad for them. I couldn't imagine growing up without my parents. We don't always get along now, but they were amazing when I was younger. They were always there for me and Stephen, and they never made me feel like I was broken because…"

"I understand," Peter told her, tears welling in his eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked, wiping away a droplet that fell from his red-rimmed eye.

"It's stupid," he said. "It's just that my parents were always there physically, but they always made me feel like I was broken. Even Nathan did sometimes. When your mom sent Stephen to talk to you, she did it because she cares about _you_. If my mom interferes in my life, it's probably because she's got some secret agenda of her own. You're lucky, Emma."

"Yes, I am," she agreed before placing a long, soft kiss on the side of his face.

He smiled and started to kiss her back when the airplane suddenly shook violently. The pilot's voice came over the PA for the passengers to buckle their safety belts. The plane shook again and Peter grabbed Emma's hand. And then the daytime sky outside the airplane windows went black.

"Oh, shit," Peter muttered as every light in the airplane went out.

The roar of the engines ceased and the plane lost altitude at an alarming rate. Peter felt his stomach in his throat as Emma's grip on his hand turned vice-like. He reached out with Micah's ability and begged the airplane to restart. Just as he felt the blood trickling out of his nose, the lights came on, the engines restarted, and the plane leveled out. Blue sky also reappeared. Peter sighed in relief as almost everyone else cheered.

"Peter, your nose," Emma said, moving his face with both of her hands.

"It's fine," he told her, wiping away the blood that was no longer growing. "That just happens sometimes."

"What was that?" she asked, glancing out the window.

"Darkness," he answered. "Something's coming."

* * *

Savannah, Georgia

"I guess we have to go back home tomorrow," Micah said as he and Molly absent-mindedly watched television in one of the sitting rooms.

"Yep," she agreed. "Janice has to get back to work."

"So what are you going to do when you get back to California?"

"Well, we talked about it on the road," she began. "Mohinder is going to get an apartment in LA and continue his research. He wants to create a safe way to suppress or maybe even remove abilities, because, let's face it, there are people out there who shouldn't have them."

Micah cocked an eyebrow skeptically. "Who are we to decide who should and shouldn't have abilities?" he asked. "Playing God never works out."

"You don't think there are people out there who shouldn't have abilities?"

"Of course there are, but it's not my place to judge."

"How could you think that people like Sylar, or that Samuel guy, or—"

"My mom?" Micah completed.

"What?" Molly asked, blinking and shaking her head in confusion.

"When my mom's ability first presented, she would become this different person, and she tore people in half, and she stole money from a mobster, and she tried to kill my dad," he told her. "She even hurt me once. She did terrible, terrible things, Molly, but she was still a good person."

"That's completely different."

"I don't think so," he interrupted firmly. "People can change. Even someone like Sylar can do good."

"Excuse me?" Molly asked incredulously, her arms folded across her chest defensively.

Micah took a deep breath as he prepared to tell her something he'd kept to himself for nearly a year. "Danko and his men nearly caught me," he confessed. "Sylar helped me get away, and obviously, he didn't kill me and take my ability. Nobody ever really deserves redemption, but nobody is ever really beyond it."

Molly stood and said, "That's very eloquent, Micah, but Sylar killed my family. He can never be redeemed from that."

Micah watched her stomp away, wondering how the conversation had gone so suddenly sour.

* * *

Lake Placid, New York

"I don't need a babysitter," Elle said after changing Mikey's diaper and placing him in his makeshift play area.

"It was either gonna be me or Bennet," Claude told .her, stretching out on the couch. "Who would you 'ave preferred?"

"Well, Bennet, obviously," Elle replied, smiling mischievously and producing a blue orb of electricity in her right hand.

"Which is why I'm the one that's here."

"I'm just fine on my own, thank you," she said, carefully lowering herself to the floor.

"Daddy?" Mikey asked, wide eyed.

"He's not here right now, little man," she told him gently. "But he'll be back soon."

"Daddy!" Mikey wailed.

"Ssshhh, sweetie, it'll be okay. Daddy's gonna be back," she said, rubbing his tiny hands. "Play with your caterpillar. You love your little caterpillar."

"Daddy!"

"Baby, listen to Mommy, it'll be okay," she promised her son.

Mikey's attention suddenly shifted and Elle turned to find Claude had disappeared.

"So not funny," Elle said to the air.

Claude reappeared standing over them. Mikey gurgled an amused laugh. Claude vanished again and reappeared a few feet away nearer to the fireplace. Mikey clapped his hands joyously in response.

"Men. You're all show-offs," Elle grumbled.

* * *

New York City

"I'm taking you inside," Lauren said, securing her sidearm in her shoulder holster.

"Is the gun supposed to intimidate me?" Gabriel asked, staring at her over his thick-rimmed glasses.

"It may not kill you, but it'll definitely knock you down," Noah warned him.

"And why are you and your safety switch are staying out here?" Gabriel asked.

"Agent Hansen is personally handling the case," Noah replied. "She's seen both of us."

"And I actually have a government ID," Lauren interjected. "Let's go."

Gabriel followed her into the building with his hands in his jacket pockets. Agent Hansen was waiting for them. She was wearing a modest suit and her blonde hair was pulled back into a severe ponytail. Her face still wore its skeptical scowl.

"Agent Lauren Gilmore," she said, displaying her badge. "CIA liaison for Homeland Security. This is Gabriel Gray. He's a neurologist consulting from the National Medical Center."

Agent Hansen cocked a suspicious eyebrow in his direction before briefly introducing herself and requesting that they follow her. She waited until they were headed downstairs in the elevator before she spoke again.

"I saw you on the news the other day, Agent Gilmore," she said, still looking straight ahead. "I thought it was interesting you stuck with that gas main story even after Claire Bennet jumped off a Ferris wheel."

Gabriel watched the two women with interest from his place in the back of the elevator.

"I do what's necessary to protect the security of this nation, Agent Hansen," Lauren replied flatly. "I'd thank you not to question it."

"So much for inter-agency cooperation," Agent Hansen muttered.

Gabriel bit his tongue as the elevator doors slid apart. Agent Hansen led them into a cold, metal room lined with square doors. She opened one of the doors and pulled out the body of a woman in her mid-thirties. Her skin was the pallid hue of death and Gabriel could clearly see the gash in her forehead though the coroner had placed the cap of her skull back on her head.

"You can go now, Agent Hansen," Lauren told her.

The other woman was clearly annoyed, but turned on her heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Lauren held out a pair of latex gloves to him and said, "Put these on. We wouldn't want you contaminating evidence."

He grudgingly pulled on the gloves and removed the top of the woman's skull. There was a visible hole in her brain about a quarter of an inch in diameter. He could tell, however, that her ability was localized in the area that was missing.

"What do you see?" Lauren asked him.

"It doesn't make sense," he replied. "If a person was just absorbing the ability, the brain tissue removed wouldn't be visible to a normal person. Have there been other victims like this?"

"I don't know," Lauren answered, moving over to the desk in the room. "Noah was looking for Larissa Morgan which is why we noticed her and the flag Agent Hansen put on the case." She flipped through a file on the desk and said, "The case apparently just got kicked over to her. There have been four other victims."

Gabriel shed the gloves and took the file from her. He looked at pictures of three men and one woman. Each had their skulls perfectly sawed of and each had visible holes in their brains ranging from a quarter to a whole inch in diameter.

"I can't tell from just the pictures, but I think all of these people had their abilities literally removed with the surrounding brain tissue," he said.

"Why would anyone do that?" Lauren asked.

"I'm not actually neurologist, but all of these pieces are from different parts of the brain," Gabriel replied, motioning to the different photos.

"Your point?"

"Put a few more parts together and you have a working brain."

"That sounds like a wild fantasy," Lauren told him, her fists on her hips.

"I have superpowers," he reminded her flatly.

Lauren rolled her eyes and said, "I guess I need to find out what these sections of brain actually do."

"We could just ask Emma."

"Who?"

"Peter's girlfriend, or whatever she is," Gabriel added quietly. "She's a doctor. I know where she lives."

"Let's go," Lauren replied, opening the door and motioning for him to go first.

Gabriel stepped across the threshold and felt the unmistakable cold of gunmetal pressed to his temple.

"The glasses only work for Clark Kent…Sylar," Agent Hansen said gruffly.

He smirked and closed and locked the door behind him with his mind. Lauren immediately started banging on it and shouting to be let out. Agent Hansen quirked a curious eyebrow.

"Why did you do that?" she asked him.

"Why didn't you pull the trigger as soon as I walked in the door?" he replied, looking at her sideways.

She stared at him for a long moment before answering. "I need to know why you're here with the CIA."

"She's not here as CIA," Gabriel replied, motioning back to the door with his eyes. "She's here because she's Noah Bennet's girlfriend, and she worked for the Company."

Agent Hansen seemed taken aback for a moment, but she didn't lower her weapon. "So Parkman was right about Bennet and the Company that kidnapped people with abilities?"

"I know. It's shocking Parkman has ever been right about anything."

"You wanna make me pull this trigger?"

"It wouldn't do you any good."

"You could have killed me with a stray thought any time in the last two minutes," she pointed out. "Why haven't you?"

Gabriel turned toward her so the gun was pointing directly at his face. He held the file out to her and said, "I want to know who's been doing this as much you do."

She took the file and lowered her weapon only slightly. "You afraid someone's going to wipe out your legacy?" she asked sarcastically.

"No," he replied. "But there are very few people on this planet who can contend with this sort of thing. I'm one of them."

She released the hammer on her gun and lowered it to her side. "I still don't understand. You're a killer."

"I _was_," he emphasized. "I have a son. I don't want you to find him in alley someday with the top of his head cut off."

"And you locked her in there because…?"

"I don't trust Bennet. Would you?"

She scoffed a slight laugh, but her face remained completely mirthless. Finally, she handed the file back to him and replace her gun in her shoulder holster. "You got a plan?"

He nodded.

"Let's go this way," she said, leading him toward the stairs. "Bennet and his Haitian friend are waiting in the front."

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment, Midtown Manhattan

Somehow, a simple kiss goodbye started involving tongues in one another's mouths and hands tangled in each other's hair. They stumbled back into her apartment and then clothes started coming off and flesh pressed into flesh.

Peter blinked at the fading light of the Manhattan afternoon. Their legs were tangled together with the sheets and her arm was draped haphazardly across his torso.

The light above the bedroom door flashed with its accompanying buzz. Peter shook her in an attempt to rouse her, but she slapped at him blindly and nearly poked his eye out.

"Guess I'll get the door," Peter muttered, kissing her lightly on the cheek. He smirked as she smiled in her sleep.

He found his pants near the bed and his undershirt a few feet from the door. He pulled it on as he looked through the peephole, surprised to see Gabriel and a woman he only vaguely recognized.

"Gabriel, what are you doing here?" Peter asked as he opened the door.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Peter Petrelli?"

"Agent Hansen?"

"I'm confused. He's a nurse, not a neurosurgeon," Agent Hansen pointed out, exasperated.

"Well, that was condescending," Gabriel muttered, "and this isn't his apartment."

"Peter?" Emma asked tiredly, wrapping her robe around herself as she emerged from the bedroom."

"Oh. _That's_ what you're doing here," Gabriel said, his eyebrows arched above his glasses. He gulped when Peter glared at him and muttered, "Well, that came out wrong."

"Is she the person that can help us?"

_"What's going on?"_ Emma signed to Peter.

"Is she deaf?"

Gabriel ignored Agent Hansen and looked directly at Emma. "We need a doctor's expertise on something. Can we come in?"

"Yes," she replied, nodding.

The four of them stood awkwardly in the middle of Emma's apartment. Agent Hansen finally handed Emma the case file and said, "We're trying to understand why the parts of these victims' brains were removed. Sylar here thinks someone is trying to build a functioning brain. I figured a doctor familiar with your abilities wouldn't laugh me out of the room."

Emma examined the pictures in the folder and her brow furrowed. "I need my neurology texts," she said, looking at Peter. "They're still in the basement."

"I'll get them," Peter promised before motioning with his head for Gabriel to follow him. Gabriel muttered a short excuse before stepping into the hall.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Peter hissed as soon as Gabriel shut the door.

"I told you; Agent Hansen needed a doctor that would understand and she could trust."

"Not _here_, specifically," Peter explained. "What are you doing back in the city? Are Elle and Mikey okay?"

"Yeah, they're fine. They're still in Lake Placid," Gabriel assured him. "That invisible guy, Claude, is staying with them while I came down here to help Bennet and his girlfriend."

"You came down here with _Bennet_?" Peter asked incredulously.

"It wasn't exactly voluntary," Gabriel replied. "There was a shotgun to the back of my head involved."

"You can tell me about it on the way to the basement."

* * *

Next Time:

Elle demands she go with Gabriel to hunt down a suspect.

Agent Hansen recruits an old partner.

The Petrellis deal with the contents of Nathan's will.

Claire sits down with the hated Times harpy.


	18. Into Dancing

A/N: So, first note, the chapter title refers to Psalm 30:11, which says, "Thou hast turned my mourning into dancing." I'm upset that NBC cancelled a superhero show with an actual following and then picked up a new superhero series with no existing fan base and probably a group of people pissed off enough to completely ignore it. They could have at the very least kicked it to their sister network SyFy. But my mourning period is over, thus the dancing. It's been a hard summer, but this is the first old WIP I've managed to update and it's a long one. School starts tomorrow so I don't know how frequent updates will be. This one is for SkyHighFan for the gentle nagging, and for Victoria, who needs to come back from the Hollow. Enjoy!

* * *

Emma Coolidge's Apartment, Midtown Manhattan

"All of these pieces have different functions," Emma explained, motioning to the pictures on the table in front of her. "These two deal with motor control, this one with memory, and this one with perception, specifically sight."

The other three sat across from her and Agent Hansen leaned forward to look more closely. "Well, if I were crazy, I'd say that sounds like a working brain."

"Not quite," Peter told her. "None of the victims are missing any part of their frontal lobe."

"What does that mean?"

"No judgment or higher reasoning," Emma explained.

"Maybe that's on purpose," Agent Hansen suggested. "Wouldn't that make a brain easier to control?"

"I don't think so," Emma replied. "Before something can be controlled, it has to exist."

"Then maybe our brain-building theory is wrong."

"Maybe not," Peter disagreed. "I doubt there are many abilities centered in the frontal lobe. It's not like a person can just decide to have an ability, and there aren't a lot of abilities that directly affect judgment."

"I know of one," Gabriel interjected, "mine."

"Did you figure that out looking in a mirror?" Agent Hansen scoffed.

"Only if that mirror had cancer and should be dead by now," Gabriel muttered, standing up. "I have to go."

"I don't think so," Agent Hansen interjected, unsnapping her holster as she stood to her feet. "You may act reformed, but I don't trust you. You've killed dozens of people."

Emma looked between the pair apprehensively and Peter stood up and gently placed a hand on Agent Hansen's arm. "You need to put your gun away and let him go," Peter said with an overt calmness.

She didn't say anything, but Agent Hansen holstered her sidearm and sat down. Peter then stepped around the table and pulled Gabriel out the door.

"What did you just do?" Gabriel asked when they were in the safety of the hall.

"I saw Matt at Christmas," Peter explained shortly. "Now you're going to tell me why I had to use his ability."

"Last year I found my birth father," Gabriel told him. "He has my ability, and he kills the same way I did, but he was dying. I don't know how he could possibly have lived this long unless someone with an ability intervened."

"And what? You think he's involved? Why?"

"I don't know, but if he keeps doing this, I'll be the one that gets blamed," Gabriel said. "I found him once. I can do it again. Besides, I need to get out of here before Bennett and his girlfriend show up."

"You're gonna tell her, right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You have to tell Elle what you're doing."

"Why the hell would I do that?"

"Because if you go off and don't tell her, you're never going to see your son again," Peter explained shortly. "It's practically a miracle you got to see him in the first place."

"Peter, I know you don't like hearing this, but I know you very well. You really shouldn't be giving relationship advice."

"Maybe. But I've never tried to kill a woman I slept with."

"No, you just got one killed."

Peter's eyes darkened dangerously. Gabriel just smirked and said, "I know you're not going to kill me over this, Pete."

"Don't call me Pete," he growled. "Now get the hell out."

A grim line replaced Gabriel's flippant grin before he turned on his heel and raced down the stairs.

* * *

An hour later after Agent Hansen decided to follow her own lead and Peter shortly told Bennet and Lauren that neither Sylar nor the FBI agent were there anymore and that he had no idea where they actually went. He pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to lessen the ache growing in his head. Emma silently handed him a cup of hot chocolate and sat down next to him. They sat comfortably as he sipped his drink and she combed her fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

"What did you mean when you said something was coming?" she asked finally.

"I don't really know," he answered honestly, setting his cup on the coffee table. "I have dreams. You know that. Sometimes they're clear. Sometimes I know exactly what has to happen. But sometimes they're more metaphor than anything. The last time I had dreams like that, I nearly blew up New York City."

"What happens in your dream?" she asked when he didn't go on.

"It's okay at first," he replied, smiling slightly. "I'm on the beach in the Hamptons, and you're there with me, and you're just soft and beautiful and relaxed."

"How is that bad?" she asked, laughing nervously.

"It's not," he assured her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's wonderful…but it doesn't last. Suddenly the beach is wet with blood, and Bennet and Tracy are trying to lead a group of people away; most of them I don't recognize. Claire is weeping over someone's body. I don't know who it is. Zach has to pull her away, but he's got a scar on his face and he's missing an arm. Mikey wails in a pool of his father's blood. And we hold onto each other and then that reporter from the _Times_ is in front of me and she says, 'For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people.'

"I don't know where I've heard that," he mused. "Maybe it was a poem I read in college. I just can't remember."

Emma slowly shook her head. "It's not a poem," she said before she stood and walked to the bookcase on her far wall. She sat back down and opened the worn, leather-bound volume and flipped through the pages. "Here," she said, passing the book to him and pointing to a specific passage on the page.

Peter silently read Isaiah 60:2: _For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people._

He looked back up at her and said, "I think we're in trouble."

* * *

Gabriel was fairly sure it was a bad idea. Peter, of course, really had no idea what he was talking about. He barely knew anything about relationships, much less his and Elle's very strange, sadistic relationship.

He opened the door without hesitation. Bennet and his entourage were probably stuck in New York traffic. Mikey saw him first.

"Daddy!"

The toddler slowly stood to his tiny feet and teetered over to his father as Elle smiled at him from the couch. Claude stood up from his seat on the hearth and curiously scratched his beard.

"Not that I really care, but are they still in the three pieces they came in, or in many pieces like fruit salad?" Claude asked.

Gabriel rolled his eyes as Mikey wrapped his arms around his father's neck. "They live," he replied simply.

"I suppose I'll have to take your word on that."

"He's telling the truth," Elle said, cautiously standing up. "You have a tell."

"I do not," he argued.

"Not for when you're lying; for when you're telling the truth," she explained, grinning.

Gabriel shook his head though his face bore a slight smirk. He looked at Claude and said, "Could you take him for a minute? I need to talk to Elle. Alone."

"Sure," Claude said, taking the suddenly unhappy child from his father.

"What's going on?" she asked, limping over to him.

Gabriel waited until the bedroom door closed before he said, "I, um, I have to leave."

"What?"

"From what I saw in New York, I think my father is killing people, and I don't think he's doing it just because he can't control the urge," Gabriel explained, refusing to meet her eyes. "I need to find out why, and I need to find him soon."

Elle's gaze narrowed as she folded her arms across her chest. "So…you're just going to disappear?" she asked tightly. "Well, I must say you're improving: I'm not knocked up and bleeding on a beach this time."

"Don't," he said, rubbing his forehead.

"No, _you_ don't get to ask that," Elle cut him off, her blue eyes boring holes into him. "I will say whatever I want to you. You know, I didn't mean to fall in love with you again. You can blame Zach and the idiot that totaled his car for that one. And you don't just get to be a good man for two weeks and then discard us like yesterday's garbage."

"I'm not discarding you."

"Like hell you aren't," she protested quickly.

"Elle, I _have _to do this. I _need_ to do this."

She flinched at the anguish in his voice, but her stare softened only slightly. "Then you're not going alone."

He shook his head. "You can't come with me."

"Don't tell me what I can't do," she replied tartly.

"You can't leave Mikey."

"And I'm not letting you leave us," Elle replied firmly, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

Elle and Gabriel both flinched at Claude's sudden appearance less than two feet away from them.

"You have _got_ to stop doing that," Elle told him through gritted teeth.

"What?" Gabriel practically growled.

"There is in fact a compromise you two appear to be ignoring," Claude began. "Of course you can't take the wee lad with you goin' after Samson Gray. But you could leave 'im in the care of someone you trust."

"I don't trust you," Gabriel replied quickly.

"Neither do I," Elle agreed.

Claude grumbled a sigh. "I wasn't talkin' about me. New Orleans. The Dawson family," he said. "The boy, Micah, doesn't hate and fear your man here, and the old woman wouldn't turn away a child in need of a home." He looked at Gabriel and continued, "Besides, there are few people you'd want in your corner more than this little scamp when she's angry."

Elle smirked and replied, "Thank you…I think."

Gabriel looked at Elle and said, "I don't want you to get hurt anymore."

"Let me worry about that," she answered, slipping her hand into his.

"Oh, how touchin'," Claude said, rolling his eyes. "Now pack up Lady Petrelli's Land Rover and get the hell out of here before Bennet and Gilmore catch up."

* * *

January 2nd, New York City

He walked down the hall of the law office on the fortieth floor of the Time-Life Building. His mother sat straight-backed in an elegant chair. She wore her typical black suit and high-class shoes. She stood up with an annoyingly fake smile and kissed him on the cheek.

"Peter," she greeted. "How did you enjoy Georgia?"

"It was fine, except for the part where the plane nearly fell out of sky on the way back," he replied flatly.

"You knew something was happening, Peter," she replied, brushing invisible dust from his jacket.

He shook his head slightly and said, "What does Isaiah 60, verse 3 mean to you?"

She smiled and said, "It is far too easy with the Bible to take it all out of context. You have to go a little deeper."

He opened his mouth to reply, when he heard two small voices saying, "Uncle Peter!"

"Hey," he said, smiling as he opened his arms to his nephews.

Monty looked up with his big brown eyes, and said, "Are you okay, Uncle Pete?"

Peter smiled at the older boy. "I'm good, Monty. How are you guys?"

"We miss New York," Monty answered.

"Hey, Uncle Pete, guess what I can do," Simon said brightly.

Monty lightly kicked his younger brother and the blond boy sheepishly said, "I won the class spelling bee."

Peter's brow wrinkled, but he said, "That's great, Si. I'm proud of you."

"Hey, Peter," Heidi said sweetly as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "It's good to see you."

"You too," he answered politely.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claire walking up the hallway wearing the same black suit she wore to Nathan's funeral. She waved to him, but her face wore an expression of utter discomfort.

"Who's that?" Heidi asked.

Peter looked back at his utterly calm mother and shook his head before looking back at his sister-in-law. "She's Nathan's daughter."

"What?" Heidi asked, jerking her head back toward Angela as her sons moved to the sidelines.

Peter moved around her and walked toward his niece. She shook her head at him and said, "Was that really necessary?"

"She'd either find out now, or in the room," Peter replied, his hands in his pants pockets as he glanced back at Heidi seething at Angela.

Claire sighed and said, "I really need to talk to you for a minute."

"What's going on?"

"Well, after we're done here, I'm actually going to meet with Remy Griffith," she explained hesitantly. "I'm going to give her the interview she's been after for the last few weeks. I was going to do it tomorrow, but I just wanted to get it over with."

"Why?" Peter asked, keeping his voice carefully controlled.

"Because she was uncovering information on her own, and Tracy thought it was better I spoke up before Griffith made up a story on her own."

"Tracy thought?"

"Peter, come on. Who knows more about this stuff than she does?"

"Granted, but this Griffith woman is a snake, and—"

Peter's attention shifted when he heard his younger nephew say, "So, she's our sister? She's blonde like me. Who's Remy Griffith and is she really a snake like Uncle Pete says?"

"Quiet, Si," Monty bit at him.

Peter looked over his shoulder. The boys were hiding from the women around a corner. He shouldn't have been able to see or hear them, but he could quite clearly. Moreover, Monty was looking directly at him.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

"Uncle Peter said a bad word," Simon told his brother mischievously.

"Shut up, Si."

"Peter, what's going on?" Claire asked, suddenly worried.

He glanced back at her and answered, "This family just got even more complicated."

Claire cocked an eyebrow, but a lawyer calling them into the conference room cut off any questions she might have had. The portly, balding gentleman in the three thousand dollar suit sat at the head of the table. Heidi, clearly still steamed, sat on one side with her two boys to her left. Angela sat across from her, stately as always, while Peter sat across from Monty and Claire sat across from a grinning Simon.

"As you all know, we are here to execute the last will and testament of Nathan Petrelli," the lawyer began. "We all know each other, except for maybe you, young lady. I assume you're Claire Bennet? Nathan's daughter by Meredith Gordon?"

Claire silently nodded and Heidi's arms tightened across her chest.

"I'm Jasper Eames, and I'll be reading and explaining Nathan's will today," the lawyer continued. "Now, first of all, Angela, Nathan did not remember you very much in his will. Like most men of his age and virility, he expected to outlive his mother."

"I understand," Angela replied diplomatically.

"I have a list here of various objects he'd like to leave to you. Most of them Arthur actually left to him upon _his_ death," the lawyer said, passing a piece of paper to her. "Now, Heidi, you received a fairly substantial settlement upon the finalization of your divorce from the late Senator."

"What are you trying to tell me, Jasper?" Heidi asked tartly as her oldest son made a study of a spot on the table.

"Nathan is leaving $50,000 to you in assets. I also have a list of items he would like for you to have. As for the boys, Nathan set up two trusts worth two hundred fifty thousand for each of them. Heidi, those accounts will of course be your responsibility until they come of age, but you won't have any direct access to the funds. There is also a list of items he would like you to hold in trust until the boys are a little older."

"I understand," Heidi said quietly, wiping an errant tear from the corner of her eye as she read the sheet of paper Jasper handed her. "What, um, what about Nathan's properties? The houses?"

"I'll get to that in a moment, Heidi," Jasper promised. "As to the matter of Claire Bennet: Nathan set up a trust fund that is immediately available to you since you are already eighteen. Half of your trust is liquid assets, the other half is tied to mutual funds and stock options. Altogether, the trust comes to the amount of around $500,000."

"What!" Heidi screeched before Claire even had a chance to react.

"Let it go, Mom," Monty said underneath his breath.

"Monty, please. You don't know what you're talking about."

"You don't know what _you're_ talking about, Mom," Monty bit back.

"Daddy wanted to leave her more money cause he wasn't a good daddy to her even after he knew about her," Simon piped up before he melted under his mother's withering stare and focused on his thumbs.

"How do you two know anything about this?" she demanded.

"Um…"

"He overheard Dad talking on the phone and then he told me," Monty explained for his younger brother.

"I cannot believe this," Heidi muttered, shaking her head.

Jasper turned his attention back toward the shocked, young blonde woman, and said, "Nathan had a few objects that he wished you to have as well. He was very meticulous about sorting these things after his near-death experience."

Peter squeezing her hand brought Claire back to full consciousness so she could take the list the older man was passing to her. She muttered her thanks as she mindlessly glanced at the sheet. Only when she glanced up and saw Simon's ever-present smile did she finally return his smile.

Jasper continued, "Finally to the matter of Nathan Petrelli's real estate holdings. Just to clarify; though the whole family often uses the properties in Hartsdale, New York, and in Lake Placid, those holdings are actually both in Angela's name, and they shall remain so. Nathan only owned three properties: a townhouse at 1709 Northwest 21st St. in Washington D.C., the townhouse on 73rd street in Manhattan, and the Southhampton house at 7 Bayberry Cove Lane. Heidi, Nathan left _you_ the house in Washington, and the New York properties he left to his brother, Peter."

His head snapped up as he said, "What?"

"What?" Heidi asked, more angry than shocked.

"Nathan left a letter for you, Peter, explaining his decision," Jasper said, handing Peter an envelope.

"This is insane," Heidi protested.

"You divorced _him_, Mom," Monty reminded her. "You already got all that you're going to from Dad."

"Monty!"

"It's true. You're the one that didn't want to be married anymore," Simon piped in.

"Simon!"

A full-fledged shouting match ensued between Heidi, Jasper, Angela, and Monty. Claire absently messed with her hair and looked at the opposite end of the room. Peter focused on the sheet of paper in his hands.

_Pete,_

_As I write this letter, you're missing. I've lost my marriage and my family, but somehow I know you're still out there fighting the good fight. That's what you do, Pete. You're the best man I've ever known. Heidi will probably throw a fit, but I know you'll do the right thing with our childhood homes. I don't know what right thing you'll come up with, but I'm sure it will no doubt help save the world. Maybe I'm being emotional or irrational, but I trust you, Pete. Don't let me down. Oh, and if you're worried about the taxes, just dip into that trust fund you've never touched. I love you._

_Nathan_

"Shut up," Peter said quietly, looking up from the sheet of paper.

The shouting continued until Peter slammed down the envelope and shouted, "Shut up!"

The room suddenly silenced. Everyone looked at the young man, stunned at his sudden outburst. Peter looked directly at his former sister-in-law and said, "Heidi, I've known you for half my life. You've been a sister to me, and you stood up for me when my own brother wouldn't. But Nathan _was_ my brother. His wishes were that the houses be left to me and I'm gonna ask that you respect that."

Heidi's mouth gapped slightly at the hardness of Peter's usually open and vulnerable eyes. She nodded silently and Jasper looked around to make sure it was safe before shuffling the papers in front of him on the table.

"There are of course papers I will need all of the adults to sign…"

"You can call me later," Peter said, standing up.

Claire looked around and stood up as well. "I'm late for a meeting," she said, scribbling her information down on a piece of paper. "This is my contact information."

Peter was waiting for her in the hall with his hands still in his pants pockets. They walked in silence until they were in the elevator and the doors slid shut in front of them.

"Okay, what the hell just happened in there? And what was up with Nathan's sons? You were acting like something was wrong with them."

"There's nothing wrong with Monty and Simon. But Monty can apparently see through walls and Simon can probably still hear this conversation," Peter explained. "I'll talk to them sometime when Heidi's not on a war path."

"Some family, huh?"

"Yeah," Peter quietly agreed. "Don't tell that Griffith woman about Monty and Simon."

"I wouldn't do that to them," she assured him.

"You gonna tell her about me?" he asked, his eyes planted on a stain on the carpet.

"I'm going to tell her that you saved my life three years ago, and that I later found out you were my uncle," Claire replied. "I'm not going to tell her about your abilities because that's not what really makes you special."

Peter's eyes shone with tears as he pulled her into a tight hug. "Be careful, Claire," he whispered in her ear.

She smiled up at him as he let go of her and said, "I love you, too."

The doors slid open and they both quickly exited the building.

* * *

Peter walked Claire to the corner of 52nd and 7th where Tracy was waiting. Peter greeted her politely enough, but he then hastily called a cab and said his goodbyes.

"What's with him?" Tracy asked as they headed down 52nd toward Broadway.

"He just inherited, like, ten million dollars worth of real estate," Claire explained.

"Seriously?" Tracy asked, freezing in place on the sidewalk.

"Nathan left him the house on 73rd street and the house in Southampton."

Tracy's eyes widened slightly. "That's more like thirteen million dollars in real estate, even in this economy," she said, continuing down the street. "Do _not_ mention that to Remy Griffith. She will spin it badly on Nathan. If she asks you any questions about Nathan's will, be vague. She might see through it, but she can't print what she can't prove. Now, Rosie O'Grady's is pretty abandoned at this time of day. It's really a pre-theatre dinner spot, but it is open for lunch. Still, you and Griffith will be secluded table in the back. I'll be at the bar. Micah made these for us. It goes in your ear."

"What is it?" Claire asked as the placed the hearing aide-looking device in her ear canal.

"It'll allow me to hear your conversation and advise you on what to say if necessary," Tracy replied as they reached the polished wood and glass door. "Ready?"

Tracy briefly spoke to the hostess and the perky young woman led Claire to a table in the back while Tracy went to a seat at the back corner of the bar. Claire ordered a glass of water and waited, twiddling her thumbs.

Less than five minutes later, a beautiful, auburn-haired woman in her mid-twenties sat down across from her. Her blue eyes sparkled as she said, "Hello, Ms. Bennet. I'm Remy Griffith. So, what are you going to do with that half-a-million dollars your daddy left you?"


End file.
